Heights
by Emerald112
Summary: "I think this'll really take our Hunger Games to new heights." Welcome to the 101st Hunger Games! *SYOT CLOSED*
1. Bleeding Out Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. It all belongs to Suzanne Collins!**

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**Heights**

**The 101st Hunger Games**

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**Bleeding Out Part I**

_But innocence is gone_

_And what was right is wrong_

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**Head Gamemaker Publius Nero**

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I stand before President Mortis, my flimsy knees wobbling shamefully from under me. All I can think about are Byris's words playing out over and over again in my head. _"Remember what happened to Calandra . . ."_

I know that Byris is only trying to be a good brother and warn me of the dangers of being Head Gamemaker, but really, I'd so much rather for him to be at least somewhat supportive of me. I don't need to be made any more nervous than I have to about this new position.

"Ah, yes." The president's voice is barely above a whisper, yet this perhaps induces far more chills running through my skin than a shout. He is raising an eyebrow at me and all I can think is that no wonder Calandra committed suicide after failing to make an arena worthy of Balthazar Mortis's taste. His punishment would no doubt be ten times worse than a simple, quick and easy, swipe of a knife or sword threw my throat.

I try not to think of all this, but the thoughts crop up nonetheless.

"Well. I'm waiting."

Balthazar is sitting on his armchair, his fingertips pressed together. The chair is swiveling back and forth. Back and forth. The swiveling is distracting me from the task at hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. Swivel, swivel, swivel.

I gulp and tear my eyes away from the wheels of Balthazar's chair.

I take a long, much-needed puff of my inhaler and let my lungs absorb the air for a moment before pushing my thick glasses up the bridge of my mouth and speaking.

"H-H-Hi P-President Mortis, sir," I choke. I can feel the beads of sweat gathering at the back of my neck and turning some of my dark brown curls to wet clumps .

"Hello," he replies. There is not a trace of warmth in his voice.

My breath becomes short and stocky and I take another puff of the inhaler. Why does my asthma have to be so bad today? I haven't had an attack this bad in years, and it has to come on the day that very well may determine whether I live or die.

Mother and Byris recommended - desperately pleaded is a better way to describe it - that I go to the hospital and have myself sorted out there, but I insisted that it was not that bad, which it's not. The proof for this is the fact that hear I am, standing proud and tall (well, standing at least) and ready to deliver my plans for the arena to the president of Panem.

"I was thinking, sir." I close my eyes for a second, then reopen them and set my plans down on his desk. His cold, steely gray eyes follow me all the while. "I was thinking-"

Balthazar cuts me off. "Nervous aren't you, Publius?"

I don't respond. I believe that this is a test. I don't know what the correct answer, the one that will allow me to pass the test, is. So I remain silent.

President Mortis sighs. "I am sure you are acutely aware of the fate of your predecessor, Publius. I assure you that as long as you do not make the mistakes that Miss Calandra made - as long as you do not make any mistakes in any of your endeavors - you shall remain just fine."

I nod. With a deep breath I plow on with the speech I prepared on my arena idea.

"I've been thinking, President Mortis . . . ever since the, er, _tragic_ failure of the Quell last year . . ."

Balthazar bares his teeth, but I pretend not to notice. "I have decided that this year must more than make up with it."

"Agreed."

I clear my throat. "So, I have come up with an idea for the new arena." I let out a laugh despite the lack of humor as I pass the sheet with my idea over to the president. "I think this'll really take our Hunger Games to new heights."

I think I did alright with my presentation. I did not choke up as much as I thought, and I even included that bit about it being _our _Hunger Games. It implies that this is something I'm really passionate about. Passion is good in Balthazar's eyes, even though, from what I can tell from only this short meeting, it's something he greatly lacks.

"No pun intended," I add, about the "new heights" comment. A second later, I realize how stupid it must have sound and wince, but, thankfully, President Mortis did not seem to have heard.

Balthazar nods his approval - at the arena, not my cheesy comment on the pun of taking the Games to new heights and the arena being so heavily similar to that - and hands me back my files.

"You've done well so far, Publius," he allows. "I advise you to keep it up."

I nod furiously.

"You may go for now, Publius."

"Thank you sir." I give him a little bow as I exit - Byris told me that he would be pleased with me bowing slightly and feel honored.

"Oh, and Publius," Balthazar calls as an afterthought just before I reach the door of his velvety office.

"Y-Yes, sir?"

"We shall be meeting again tomorrow at the same time. Do not be late. And, for your own good, do not let this arena disappoint."

He leaves it at that and I give him another little bow to which one corner of his mouth curls up into a half smile and I duck out of the meeting.

Once outside, I run. I run home to Mother and Byris as fast as I possibly can. I only stop along the way to catch my breath and give myself a puff of air once I'm far enough away from the president that he cannot feasibly call me back and expect me to hear.

I sit down to rest for a moment a few blocks away from the house where Mother, Byris, and I live.

I never would have even imagined Balthazar choosing me to be Head Gamemaker. I did not even think I would ever get the position of a Gamemaker at all, but seven years ago, Mother fell ill and with her off work, Byris struggled to pay the bills alone. I was eighteen at the time, and the Gamemakers were looking for new recruits, so I figured I might apply. I was surprised to find that I was hired. Fortunately, Mother healed eventually, but she was never quite well enough to work again, so I kept my post as a Gamemaker.

My initial shock at finding out that I was made a Gamemaker, however, was nothing compared to the surprise I felt at being made Head Gamemaker upon Calandra's . . . early demise. I could not possibly understand why Balthazar would choose me over some of the others. I mean, if I'm going to be blunt, I'm pretty pathetic. I'm just a geeky twenty-eight-year-old who still lives with his mother and older brother. I am not bloodthirsty in the way that many of my colleagues (past colleagues, now they are under me) are and do not have a strong stomach; blood makes me queasy.

The main thing that I really bring to the table is my brains. I have always been good at figuring out what's going through a tribute's head at any given moment and instructing the others on what would make the audience find the Games interesting that year in terms of that tribute. I am not always right, but I applaud myself at that skill.

The only other thing I can do is create. If I do not think about what a deadly mutt or a trap in the arena is going to be doing to an innocent teenager, perhaps only twelve-years-old, then I can build them quite well.

But neither of these skills that I posses are what made Balthazar choose me for the next Head Gamemaker. Because when it comes down to it, as I am just realizing now, maybe he truly does want someone who cannot stand the sight of blood for this position. Maybe he wants someone more subdued and less bloodthirsty for this position once in a while.

Because maybe, the tributes are not always enough. Maybe, once in a while, the president likes to watch a Capitol man suffer as well.

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**Backstory to how the Games went on and Balthazar Mortis became the president . . .**

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Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve was a brave, fierce young woman devoted to one person above all: Her sister, Primrose. When Prim was reaped for the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Volunteered for her and went into the arena, her district partner being Peeta Mellark, the baker's handsome son.

The two fell in love inside the arena, and tricked the Capitol into letting them both survive by pretending to kill themselves with poisonous nightlock berries. When the Gamemakers saw that they were both going to die and there would be no Victor, they allowed both tributes from Twelve to win, preferring two Victors to none.

The 75th Hunger Games rolled around the following year; a Quarter Quell. For this Quell, only the names of previous Victors would be inside the reaping bowl.

Being the only female Victor from District Twelve, Katniss was forced to enter the arena. Peeta was reaped alongside her, however, Haymitch Abernathy, their old mentor, Volunteered for him, having been drunk at the reaping and not aware of what he was doing.

Little did Katniss know, a rebellion was being planned in District Thirteen, which was said to have been destroyed. The people who had moved to Thirteen planned on taking most of the Victors out of the arena. They succeeded in this and a full-blown war began between the rebels and the Capitol.

The rebels seemed to have been winning, until Katniss Everdeen killed President Snow, and then it really sunk in into the Capitol side's minds that their leader was dead and they would be as well unless they stepped it up.

And they did just that.

The Capitolites and their supporters went ballistic, killing any person they saw who looked as though they might possibly have something to do with the rebellion.

Eventually, the rebels were forced to surrender, and the Capitolites were victorious. The Hunger Games would continue.

President Snow's daughter, Driss Snow, was made the new president of Panem and the Districts were put in their place.

However, Driss Snow was not interested in presidency. All she cared about was the glamour and glitz. She wanted to make it a requirement that from then on every arena for any future Games must contain glitter, the color pink, and many other things that were ridiculous in the eyes of most of the Gamemakers.

Driss's son-in-law, Balthazar Mortis was married to Driss's daughter Melal Mortis (nee Snow) for the pure reason of getting in line for the presidency. Despite the fact that Melal was much too young to be married - she would be of reaping were she from one of the districts - Driss forced her into agreement, because the woman simply could not pass up the opportunity for her daughter to marry a man as handsome and charming as Balthazar once was and she knew that she possibly may never find such a man later on and Balthazar would not be as good-looking once Melal was actually old enough for marriage. Balthazar saw that the Games would be going downhill severely as would Panem. (Not to mention the fact that he greatly desired the presidency for himself.) And so, only three weeks after she became president, he simply took a knife and slit her throat, without even batting an eyelash.

Melal was too far, far, young, and so Balthazar was named the next president. He soon realized that once Melal was old enough, she would take his place as president, being as she was the rightful heir and not he, and so, he murdered her in the exact same way that he did her mother. And, just like Driss, Melal did not see it coming and was too shocked (not to mention unskilled) to even make an effort to fight back.

No one ever found out that he was the one that killed his wife or her mother, and he was going to make sure that no one ever did.

Balthazar Mortis remained President of Panem, and was pleased to find out that most of the Capitol people were naive enough to not even speculate as to the fact that he might have something to do with the deaths of either Driss or Melal, let alone both.

For good measure, and to remind the Districts of all that he could do even to their strongest, he executed all tributes of the 75th Hunger Games, purely because they were tributes in the Games that he believes sparked the rebellion.

Needless to say, Peeta Mellark and Annie Cresta were heartbroken. They had both lost the loves of their lives to the Games, even after Katniss and Finnick already proved strong enough to survive one Hunger Games and sort of almost two. They did not survive Balthazar Mortis's execution, however.

But time went on and as did the Hunger Games.

It was decreed by the president that though the remaining Victors would not be killed along with their fellow Victors who were had been tributes in the 75th Hunger Games, and therefore, in Balthazar's eyes, had much to do with the rebellion, however, these remaining Victors would be permitted to mentor tributes from their districts only if there are less than two Victors of the Games from said district who won in the Mortis-era, post 75th Games.

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**Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons**

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**A/N: So, this is going to be an SYOT! I'm super excited about getting all of your amazing tributes :D I am sure I'm going to love them all!**

**I hope you liked this prologue :D The backstory is a little bit off from canon, I know, but I had to make it fit so that the Games could be reinstated!**

**I will not be revealing the arena until the Games actually start, so you must stay tuned for that! Your only clue is that it falls into the theme of "Heights" which is why that's the title of the story.**

**The form can be found on my profile :) Be sure to fill it out completely and send it in to me by PM only! Tributes sent in via review will not be accepted. Sorry to anyone who does not have an account, but I really do not want this story to be deleted.**

**Form and tribute list are on my profile :P**

**Please leave me a review and let me know what you think of my writing so far! :D**

**Oh, and, an important note!: This SYOT will be done in the format of the brilliant JABBERJAYHEART! Anyone who has never checked out one of his stories should really do that, because they are all amazing and he has been so nice as to allow me to use his format for getting through the pre-Games stuff so that it does not drag on forever :D**

**xxx,**

**Emmy**


	2. Bleeding Out Part II

**Heights**

**The 101st Hunger Games**

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**Bleeding Out Part II**

_But innocence is gone_

_And what was right is wrong_

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**Head Gamemaker Publius Nero**

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It's been all of one day since I presented Balthazar with my basic arena idea. He seemed to be pleased with my concept, which, even now, a day later, makes me heave a sigh of relief. I can only imagine the punishment if my arena were to disappoint this early in the Games, before the tributes even enter it.

I'm still working out the finer details of my first Games as Head Gamemaker. Balthazar said that I have time to do so. I don't know what exactly he means by "time." A few hours? Days? Weeks? All I know is that if my creative juices do not begin to flow soon, there will be trouble. That is guaranteed. Jace is only a reminder of that.

Jace is the seven-year-old boy who is the reason that I, Head Gamemaker Publius Nero, am standing in the middle of a kiddy-carnival, surely the only one here above the age of twelve.

Jace is Calandra's one and only son. Calandra was my predecessor as Head Gamemaker, but even though I was a Gamemaker during her regime, I never really had much to do with her. I was a low-ranking Gamemaker. Us Heads only deal with the upper-ranking Gamemakers.

Mother said I had to spend time with Jace here though. She said the poor boy probably never had any fun anymore, and that he was desperate to attend this particular carnival - which is rather bland in my opinion. How Mother knows anything at all about this child, I did not question. Byris and I always listen to Mother. We are obedient sons and we love her, so why should we defy her or question her reasoning?

Jace is on a merry-go-round at the moment. Once again, I feel as though this carnival is rather bland. The merry-go-round could very well be the most exciting thing here.

_Pop._

I jump, startled, as the red balloon I was holding for Jace explodes to reveal the face of non other than Balthazar Mortis himself, needle in hand.

I clutch my chest. "You gave me a fright there, sir," I pant. "I-I was not expecting to see you so soon."

I take a puff of my inhaler, now truly regretting bringing Jace here.

"Well, I'm just full of surprises, aren't I, Publius?"

His tone is cold as ever, but his words themselves are what really claw at me. It certainly was a surprise when Calandra disappeared, though I suppose it should not have been.

"Ironic, isn't it." He has not moved at all from his initial position; the point of the needle is still mere inches from my face, where the balloon was moments ago.

"W-what's ironic?"

"This whole setting, Publius. Ironic that the two of us can be found in this pitiful excuse for a fun venue, watching that thing go round with a bunch of idiot children screaming."

Now it sinks in. He's referencing my arena.

"Yes, sir," I agree. "Ironic indeed."

"So, is that why you're here, Publius?" Balthazar raises an eyebrow. "Are you getting ideas here to embellish the first arena you can call your very own?"

He knows that I'm not, so there's no point in pretending that I am. In all honesty I had not even made the connection. I mentally smack myself across the forehead at my idiocy.

"N-no, sir. Actually, I'm here with a child."

"Calandra's boy." It is not a question.

This man seems to know everything. He seems to always know what everyone is feeling and thinking. Rather like Mother. Except that while Mother uses it to help everyone out and maintain a healthy lifestyle for herself, Byris, and me, Balthazar uses it to crawl under people's skin and remind them of everything he's capable of doing to them.

"Yes. C-Calandra's boy. He's been having a hard time lately, you know."

The minute the words leave my mouth I regret them. I try to pass it off as an innocent statement, but Balthazar can sense the bitterness behind it.

He stares me down with that hard, cool gaze of his, but I'm lucky enough to escape with nothing more than his cold stare.

"Yes, Publius," he counters. "And we wouldn't want that family of yours - what were their names . . . Byris? And that mother of yours, what was she called again . . .?"

I bite my lip and my palms clench into fists.

"Well, we wouldn't want them to be "having a hard time" like dear Jace, now would we?"

He takes my silence for a "no".

"Then you'd better get thinking. You have a general layout, yes, but you better make this memorable for more than just that clever idea of yours. Yes, I'll admit, it was rather brilliant on your part."

I beam.

He does not.

"But. That does not mean you can slack off. Oh no, to the contrary, you must work extra hard to make this arena live up to its original stroke of creativity. Work out the details, Publius. Often times, they're what matters."

I nod, gulping down the lump in my throat.

"And remember Publius, think heights, think carnival."

"Y-yes, sir."

He leaves without another word, just as Jace returns from his ride, mouth wide in a grin.

"Hey, where'd my balloon go?"

Shoot. I had forgotten about the balloon.

"It, uh, it popped."

His face falls.

"That's okay, I'll buy you a new one."

He smiles widely once again.

"After that, Jace, I think we're going to have to leave. I have, um, I have some . . . work stuff to think about."

I turn away before he can respond.

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**Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons**

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**Yay! All tributes in! We have a truly amazing bunch this story, if I may say so myself xD Thank you so so much to each of my 24 amazing submitters and welcome to Heights! **

**Each chapter will have a song as its title :D Next chapter will be the reapings. They will all be done in one chapter, like the format of Jabberjayheart, or Corey, who has been so kind as to give me permission to use his wonderful format xD Of course, I'll be changing some stuff and adding some stuff of my own, but yeah, I don't own the format. All of the reapings will be done in one chapter (the next one!) and they will be told from the mentor's point of view, but don't worry; we'll be hearing from your tributes right after that xD**

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**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave me a review xD Thanks!**

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**This is the Hunger Games. 23 of your tributes will die, as you know. Character deaths will be based on a number of things some of which include future story arcs and plot lines that I have in mind for the tribute, realism, which tributes I like best, and which the readers and submitters like best, and whether the submitter is reviewing the story. The only reason that this is included is that I think this is fair, because I'd like to keep tributes in the Games longer (if possible) if I know that the submitter is reading the story, and the only way for me to know this is if you review xD If not, I have no idea whether or not you're reading the story. You all knew the odds when you submitted a tribute. I'd love it if you stuck around and continued to read the story if/when your tribute perishes, but if not I understand.**

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**I would really appreciate it if you guys answered some of the questions I have for you at the end of each chapter xD **

**_What did you think of Balthazar and Publius from these two chapters presented to you?_**

**_What do you think the arena will be? (I have tried to make this as obvious as possible through these two chapters without blatantly giving it away, but it's fine if you did not figure it out)_**

**_Just from the blog, what do you think of the different tributes? (as in, totally biased opinions that are definitely subject to change once you actually meet the characters based on stuff like their name, picture, weaknesses, weapon of choice, reaped/volunteered, etc.)_**

**_Just from the blog, which tributes stood out the most/are your favorites so far?_**

**_How was my writing in this chapter?_**

**Whoa. That was a lot of questions. If you don't want to answer all of them, then that's great too. Most chapters will only have like two questions probably xD**

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**Here is the link for the blog! Just remove the two spaces (one is before blogspot and one is before com)**

** heights101hg. blogspot **

**Final tribute list! Woohoo!**

**District One**

**Male: **Fibonacci Luxius, 17

**Female: **Dream Swiller, 17

**District Two**

**Male: **Kai Loran, 18

**Female:** Caecilia Fairbane, 18

**District Three**

**Male: **Keon Watts, 16

**Female: **Circuit Tethra, 17

**District Four**

**Male: **Conner Poe, 18

**Female: **Sierra Rosini, 17

**District Five**

**Male: **James Sern, 17

**Female: **Summer Blaze, 17

**District Six**

**Male: **Manuel Maxwell, 15

**Female: **Kerr Dolce, 18

**District Seven**

**Male: **Forest Sunflower, 18

**Female: **Birdy Rhodes, 16

**District Eight**

**Male: **Solris Reen, 15

**Female: **Terra Beasley, 16

**District Nine**

**Male: **Cameron Markensti, 15

**Female: **Catt Williams, 18

**District Ten**

**Male: **Alistair Penn, 13

**Female: **Lainey Bristol, 12

**District Eleven**

**Male: **Martial Avalaine, 16

**Female: **Briony Creeks, 13

**District Twelve**

**Male: **Jax Conkel, 17

**Female: **Saffron Irons, 16


	3. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**The reapings are now up! All in one chapter! And they are from the point of view of the mentors, but don't worry, you'll be hearing from your wonderful tributes starting from next chapter :D**

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**Boulevard of Broken Dreams**

_Sometimes I wish someone up there will find me_

'_til then I walk alone_

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**Stellar Royal, District One Male**

**Victor of the Eighty-Second Hunger Games**

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Gala's put on weight. I never really noticed until now, despite living in such close proximity to her in the Victor's Village for two years, but as she comes into my view now, biting her lip in anticipation of the reaping of her very first tributes to mentor, I can see it so plainly.

She's never had the same sort of curvy, yet still thin body that guys are always drooling over, but I can tell that ever since her Games two years ago, Gala has been binge-eating.

I promised myself that I would try to help Gala. She was my personal tribute in the Games two years ago, and I feel especially attached to her. I brought her home.

"Are you ready, Gala, dearest? Your very first Hunger Games as a mentor! Oh, I'm so excited for you!"

Tiara's words. She has come bounding down out of her mansion and straight into Gala's chubby arms. She is the other Victor I brought home. Yes, I'm pretty good at all of this mentoring stuff if I may say so myself.

Tiara's long strawberry-blond locks, each set perfectly in place, sparkling bright eyes, and flawless skin and body only do more to bring out all of Gala's physical imperfections.

I try put an arm around our most recent Victor, but it ends up feeling awkwardly, and i unravel it when she flinches uncomfortably.

Tiara takes Gala's callused in her own smooth ones and squeals girlishly. "Oh, I'm so excited for you, Gala! And mentoring with Stellar is just a blast! Really! So much fun! And he'll have tons of tips and pointers for you. You can trust him. After all, he did bring both of us home, didn't he?"

She winks at Gala, who only sinks lower from her already petite figure.

One might think that two years of living so close to a girl might make a person grow accustomed to her overly peppy girlish talk. If this is the case, then guess again.

Tiara positively adores Gala. Unfortunately, I can't say the same is true for Gala's feelings about Tiara. It's not that she doesn't like her. She does. I think it's more that Tiara's gorgeous exterior and constant bubbly personality intimidates Gala.

"Come on," I say, trying to break the tension that Tiara cannot sense. "The reaping is about to begin."

Tiara sends us off with waves and kisses, and I steer Gala towards the town square. Tiara and all of our other Victors will be joining us up on stage shortly, but I have been mentoring for nearly two decades now, and I know from experience that it's best for new mentors to arrive at the reaping extra early to ease their nerves and get comfortable. Gala is a new mentor. She won two years ago, but last year, well . . . I hate to say it, but last year Gala was a total wreck, so Tiara took a turn. She and Gala will probably alternate from now on. Or maybe Tiara will just have to join me every year until we get another Victor. Gala's still not totally composed just yet. I have my doubts over whether she ever will be.

I'm rather excited about the reaping this year. Gala and I have already convened with the training instructor of the district's best training academy - the very one that I myself attended as a young boy. He's a wizened old Victor of the Games pre-Seventy-Fifth, and the tributes that he has chosen this year seem to be top notch and well worth my time as a mentor. Of course, then there are the years that you get those random oddball Volunteers who beat the designated Careers to it, (like Gala for instance) so we can never be certain that we're going to get our chosen Volunteers.

By now the square is beginning to fill up. Tiara and the other Victors take seats beside Gala and myself as the mayor comes forth and says hello to us like he does every year.

It was decreed by the President himself that no Victor of a Hunger Games before the Seventy-Fifth can mentor a tribute in a future Games, unless there are fewer than two Victors from said district post Seventy-Fifth Games. Here in District One, Gala, Tiara, myself, and another man called Ornate Smithen, who won a few years before I did, are eligible for mentoring according to this rule.

Ornate is in no fit state to mentor. Let's just leave it at that. His Games left him with one arm blown off - he received a prosthetic one in the Capitol after his Games. But his physical damage does not matter. It would not effect his mentoring capabilities. What I meant is that Ornate is, well, let's just say he's not well in the brain. In fact, I have not truly had a proper conversation with the guy since he was my mentor almost twenty years ago.

"Hello District One!" our green-haired, green-skinned, green-eyed escort booms. "Are you ready to find out who will represent this lovely district of yours in the One-Hundred and First annual Hunger Games!" She giggles and pauses for dramatic effect before opening up the slip of paper in her hand ever-so-slowly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your female tribute for this year's Hunger Games is . . . Gem Fli-"

She is not even able to finish her sentence.

I smirk, when a dozen girls grin like mad, as if they will be this year's tribute. But only one acts fast enough. Clearly, this must be Passion, the girl assigned to Volunteer this year.

But the escort asks for her name. And it's not Passion Ray.

"Dream Swiller," she tells us all in the microphone.

Dream puts a finger to her mouth and bites down on a nail, then quickly removes it as if someone would not be happy about her doing this. She looks around back and forth. Back and forth. As if thinking that Passion's going to pop out and attack her for stealing her one and only shot at the glory of being a Victor. A few times Dream's dark brown eyes flit to mine, but they flicker away too quickly to even be considered much eye contact.

"Well, hello, Dream! How do you do? So nice to have you here with us today," says the escort, Dimette. "Aren't you a beautiful one, there? Not that I'm surprised coming from this gorgeous district of yours."

Dream nods, but does not smile or thank her or look remotely flattered. Rather, she looks more like she's trying to de-code the escort's innocent words, and look for a hidden threatening message.

But Dimette is certainly right. Dream is beautiful. Gala looks like she wants to fall off the face of the earth at Dimette's comment on the "gorgeous district" and I give her sweaty palm a reassuring squeeze, though this does not do much to relax her nerves.

Dream's heavily lidded lashes blink up at Dimette expectantly. "What about the boys?" she questions.

Dimette throws her hands up. "Oh, goodness! My oh my, and we're almost running out of time here! Yes, on to the gentlemen now." She pats Dream's head and says, "see that folks? She's helping me out already! I'm sure we're just going to be the best of friends!"

A bewildered Dream ducks from under Dimette's perfectly manicured hand and starts backing away from her slowly.

Dream looks rather like Tiara in my opinion. At least, much closer to Tiara than Gala. She is tan with curly blond hair cascading down her shoulders. The biggest difference, though, would be that while Tiara's eyes are blue and bright, Dream's are a dark chocolate brown.

"Don't worry," I whisper to Gala. "You don't have to take her. I prefer to do the females anyway." I give her a wink.

I know that mentoring a girl like Dream would be just about the worst thing for Gala's already low self-esteem.

She does not say anything, but I think I can sense the tiniest hint of a smile on her portly, round features.

Evidently, I missed the boys' reaping. Not that it really matters who was actually reaped. What matters is the action right after it. Call me cruel, but I actually find it funny watching the boys race and tackle each other to get to the stage first. I chuckle as it dawns on me that all of nineteen years ago, I did the exact same thing to secure my own spot in the Games.

This one is even more amusing than usual though: One well-built blond boy is beating down the other hopefuls with a staff, smacking them right on the head and making his way through the crowd and straight up onto the stage.

He smiles triumphantly at his handiwork as he surveys the many older males of reaping age now rubbing there heads and muttering in anger and discomfort.

"And what's your name, dear?" says Dimette brightly.

The boy grabs her microphone and holds it up to his mouth, but says nothing.

"Fibbi! It's Fibbi! His name is Fibonacci Luxius, or Fibbi if you'd like!"

It's a female voice that says this, and the voice's owner looks a lot like the boy, Fibbi. Perhaps a sister of his?

I sigh. "He's all yours, Gala. I've got Dream, remember?"

She tenses up. Clearly, the thought of mentoring this Fibonacci Luxius kid is intimidating to her.

Well, she's going to have to take one of the two of them, and Dream is certainly not the right choice. I don't think reasoning with her is going to have the desired result, so I try soothing her instead.

"Hey, don't worry, Gala," I say. "It's alright. I'll help you along the whole way. Guide you. We're all in this together. Don't worry, I'm sure by the end of these Games you'll be a pro mentor, begging for more next year."

I try to make the words sound believable, but I know that they are not. In all honesty, besides for Tiara, who seems to just be overly happy about absolutely everything that gets thrown at her, none of us are really too keen on growing close to two teenagers, just to watch them die a brutal death or become ruthless murderers, or both. Now, I'll admit, I did kill two tributes during my time in the arena, but does that mean that I pretty much have to relive the experience through another person year after year?

Who knows, maybe it does. Maybe this is my punishment. Maybe the guilt that will live with me forever is just not enough, and I need this as punishment as well.

* * *

**Pewter Bruit, District Two Female**

**Victor of the Eighty-Third Hunger Games**

* * *

I sigh and flick a strand of brown hair over my shoulder. "Slate, don't you sometimes just wish you could go back into the arena and go through it all again?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "I'm not sure why I even ever expected anything more of you than that statement, Pewter. As for the answer to your question: no. I do not."

He is sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into the distance out the glass window. I huff and place a hand on my hip. "Slate Bruit, oh great brother of mine, do you mean to tell me that should you be given the opportunity to go back into the arena and win again, you would not take it?"

I gasp theatrically and he rolls his eyes. "No," he states, "and neither would you. Don't kid yourself. I remember how cowardly you were when it was your turn. I even had to offer to switch with you and decrease my chances of winning because I was only seventeen at the time, whilst you were eighteen."

"Yes, but that was before I realized just how amazing life as a Victor truly is! And besides, it all worked out in the end, didn't it? You Volunteered and won the very next year so all is well in the world, right?"

He shrugs, but gives me a look that says that he is not interested in this conversation anymore.

"Do you really never feel jealous of them, Slate?" My voice is soft this time. This time, my words are genuine. He's right. If I were given the opportunity to return to the Games I probably would not take it. I wouldn't go _that _far But I am so jealous. So so jealous.

"Of who?" He sounds bored with me, but I don't care. I want to know if I'm really the only one.

"Of the tributes, obviously. The new ones every year. It seems as though each set of tributes gets more attention than the last, and it's just not fair!"

He laughs. He actually, truly, genuinely laughs at me as if there is humor to anything I'm saying.

"I don't see what's so funny about this!"

He sighs. "Maybe it's time you brought home another Victor. Maybe eventually it will sink in how idiotic that sounds."

I'm about to ask him how bringing home another Victor would help me understand anything, but then I realize that I have brought home a Victor, and I tell him this.

Managera won the Games five years after me, four after Slate. That was a great decade for District Two. Four Victors in ten years from the same district - the three of us plus Mixa Vale of the Eighty-First. It rarely ever happens. And to make it even more special, Slate and I are siblings who won consecutive years!

Managera hardly ever mentors. She did once, and she says she may be "feeling up to it" again in a couple of years, but for now the sight of blood just makes her sick to the stomach. Apparently, having six kills in your Games can do that to a person. I wouldn't know. I only had three.

Our other Victor after the Seventy-Fifth, Mixa Vale, does not do too much mentoring either. She says that Slate and I are better at it than her, - and I'm certainly not going to argue with her on that front - but I think the real reason is that she just likes to see us bicker. That is why I have vowed to not rile Slate up unless absolutely necessary during the Games in front of other people that might leak it to Mixa. That'll show her.

Slate groans. "It's getting late, Pewter. We'd better get going to the reaping right about now."

I agree with him that we should, and we are, indeed, a bit late.

Well, just in time to hear this year's tributes is perfectly fine in my opinion. What else is there that's worth hearing?

"I Volunteer!"

Oh, so Slate and I missed the reading of the actual slip. Big deal. The world's about to end. Note the sarcasm.

The girl is tan skinned and dark haired and looks reasonably tough.

"Hello all, my name is Caecilia Fairbane." Beneath her polite words however, I can see the smirk she's trying to keep from bleeding through onto her face.

She looks like a strong competitor. Maybe if I can bring her home this year as a Victor, people will see how truly amazing I am beyond a shadow of a doubt at everything Hunger Games related from winning to bringing not one, but _two _tributes I mentored home.

I can see it now. When Caecilia wins she'l spread the word that it was all thanks to me: Pewter Bruit the most amazing mentor who ever lived.

"I think I'll take her," I say to Slate.

We alternate every year who gets to choose the tribute first.

"Are you sure now, Pewter. Don't you want to check out who the male tribute is this year first?"

This would be a good idea, and I purse my lips in annoyance that I could be so rash as to choose one tribute without first seeing the other, but now that Slate's thought of it and not me, I can't very well agree now can I? I can't let him think he's smarter than me. Because he's not of course. And I wouldn't want him to get so arrogant as to think that he's something that he's not.

"No, Slate, I'm sure. I'll be mentoring Caecilia, and she looks like she can win this thing, so you and whoever your male tribute's going to be better watch out."

He does not answer. He's watching the reaping intently now. Now that he knows that Caecilia's going to be mine, he's waiting on the edge of his chair to see who his own tribute to mentor is going to be.

Darius Herth is the name of the tribute that's reaped.

Their must be twenty-five males who want to reach the stage first. It's a pity really, that none of them will have their shot at being a Victor. Maybe they should take lessons from me on how to get to the stage fastest . . .

Some of them are rather fast, I'll admit, but only one boy gets up here first obviously.

"Well, hello there Caecilia m'lady." Those are the first words that come out of his mouth.

He takes her dark hand in his own and kisses the top of it. Then he loops an arm through Caecilia's and seizes the microphone.

"Hello, District Two! My name is Kai Loran, and I think this year we're going to have another Victor!"

People cheer at that, mainly females who must find his muscular build and black hair attractive, not to mention those sea-blue orbs that are his eyes. Why does it all look so familiar to me though?

Kai winks at me, and suddenly he has me thinking back.

Loran . . . Loran . . . Loran . . . Well duh! Of course I know the family! We live so close together in the Victor's Village! His father and sister both won the Games. The father is not allowed to mentor, because he won the Games before the Seventy-Fifth, and the girl never did because, as Mixa once put it to me "she's far too soft to have anything to do with the Games anymore." I hardly ever think of her as a post Seventy-Fifth Victor though. She really has hardly spoken two words to me and I just don't appreciate her lack of respect for me as the greatest Victor District Two has seen in a long time. Probably even the greatest Victor who ever lived, but I won't push it if someone denies that one. It's not like I'm haughty or anything that I would insist upon that.

Judging from his facial expression, Slate figured out who Kai was right away. Clearly, Slate just associates with the lesser-Victors as well, whilst I hold myself to higher standards. I don't really talk to any of the Victor families that much, only my fellow individual Victors, but I've definitely seen Kai around plenty of times before.

"So, do you think we have some good contenders this year?" I ask Slate.

He nods.

But the thing is, every year I ask him this same exact question and every year he nods in the exact same fashion, but very few of those nods are proven accurate.

* * *

**Theorem Avalon, District Three Male**

**Victor of the Seventy-Ninth Hunger Games**

* * *

Futura and I are the only Victors from District Three after the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, and so ever since her victory ten years ago, the two of us have been mentoring together. I hate to be such a pessimist, but there's some part tugging at me saying that it's going to be just the two of us for a long time. I know I shouldn't think of everything so negatively, but I can't help it.

We're sitting up on the stage side-by-side. I'm twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Rister to show up already and tell us who out tributes this year are going to be. The suspense is killing me. I hate suspense.

I really don't understand how Futura does it. She's just so . . . composed all of the time. When her name was drawn and I watched the tiny brunette thirteen-year-old climb the stage ten years ago, I never expected her to win at that moment if I'm going to be totally honest with myself honest. I thought she was cute, sure. I liked her a lot. But it was not until probably around the top ten that I thought she might actually have a shot at winning.

She seems so . . . unfazed by the arena nowadays though. The woman sitting next to me seems a lot like the woman Futura could have very well grown up to be had she not been reaped - besides the Victor part, that is. Is it just Futura, or are most of the Victors like that? Am I really the only one who has changed so drastically?

My whole life used to be revolved around my creations. Creation in the singular, actually. I was so well set upon the road for completing the prototype of my robot with a nearly human brain. He could read and right and walk and talk and a whole bunch of other things. I could have gotten there. It was mighty ambitious of me, but I think I got pretty close in the five years me and Dad spent on it together. It would have taken years longer if it ever happened at all, but we might have been able to do it, Dad and I.

But that all changed when I was seventeen and reaped for the Games. When I returned everything was different. I kept to myself even more than beforehand, even in Dad's presence, which was never the case throughout my childhood beforehand. Not only that, but the robot prototype no longer holds any appeal for me whatsoever. I completely lost that spark of inspiration that once was ignited inside of me brightly enough to last a century. Well, it has not yet been a century. Where did the spark go?

Futura's nostrils flare up a little when Rister climbs up on stage.

"Let's kick off out reaping this year with the male tribute, now shall we?"

This year and every other year.

It's no secret how sexist our male escort is.

"At least the males have some sort of shot, as opposed to the," his face scrunches up in disgust at the last to words, "_other species_," I hear him mutter this as he passes by me and Futura. He throws her a contemptuous look, irritated that she is a direct contradiction of his claim that female tributes are incapable of winning the Games.

She responds with a glare filled with even more disdain. Futura's proved to me that she's not scared of anything or anyone, least of all Rister.

"Keon Watts," Rister announces.

The boy walks up to the stage casually, without any further encouragement. His features are arranged in a smirk, unfazed and his hands are shoved in his pockets as if this is just a typical event.

"And now your girl," Rister is able to keep his voice even, which causes the corners of Futura's mouth to flicker in the slightest of grins.

"Circuit Tethra!"

The seventeen-year-olds part for Circuit to step through, but the girl is frozen in place.

Rister's smile is one of contempt and makes my blood boil.

A few kids around Circuit are pushing her forward and muttering to her to come up on to the stage, but she remains rooted to the spot despite all of their efforts.

As she's escorted up to the stage by a couple of Peacekeepers, I can see her mouth moving to form one single word over and over again.

If I did not already know what Circuit was saying, I would not be able to make out the word, but I can figure it out based on the shapes her lips are making, and more importantly her last name.

Circuit Tethra was the name Rister read . . . Tethra . . . As in Cordin Tethra. My tribute from two years ago.

"Circuit," Rister proclaims with a smirk at her reaction to hearing her name called.

"K-Kit," she stammers, wrapping her arms around herself and shaking furiously. "C-C-Call me K-Kit."

"Kit," he repeats.

Rister mutters something to himself away from the microphone that I do not catch.

As Keon and Kit shake hands, Futura pats me on the shoulder.

"So, I'm assuming your taking Kit, huh?" she asks.

"What makes you say that?"

"Cordin. I know. You're going to want to try to make up for his death."

I don't say anything. She continues. "I know you, Theorem. I know what you want, and lately it seems like you don't, so I'll tell you what you want. You want to mentor her and not Keon, and that's fine with me. But remember, Theorem, Kit might not be the Victor either. So don't expect to "make amends" with her family or whatever by bringing Kit home."

"I'm not stupid, Futura, I know what the Games are."

"Would I ever call you stupid? No, I'm not saying that you're stupid, Theorem. I'm only reminding you that you're human just like the rest of us."

She leaves it at that and I don't ask her to elaborate, but when she smiles sweetly at me, I return it half-heartedly, reminded of the fact that even though her grin is still cute and young as ever, Futura, is a grown woman now and not some thirteen-year-old who's life is somewhat in my hands.

* * *

**Mare Caspian, District Four Female**

**Victor of the Ninety-Seventh Hunger Games**

* * *

I pull my silky brunette hair back into a ponytail and catch the water bottle Drian throws at me before taking off down to the pool.

Drian, Tidal, and I are the three newest Hunger Games Victors. In other words, the only ones allowed to mentor, because of some crap the Capitol's on about the other Victors "stirring up thoughts of rebellion in the young tributes' minds."

Towel swung over my tanned shoulder, I march down and take a seat at the edge of the pool.

For as long as I can remember, it has always been a tradition of mine to go for a swim the morning of reaping day. I imagine that here in District Four, many others have that same tradition. Only, today I'm running late, and Tidal said I can't go swimming today, but I'll be fine as long as I'm not seen by-

"Fancy seeing you here, Mare."

Tidal.

"Come on, now, Mare. Get yourself dried off. It's time for the reaping."

I refuse to look at him as I do so, but I obey everything he says.

"You're not the boss of me, Tidal," I say, folding my arms across my chest.

"Alright. Then don't do as I say."

For some reason, I can't bring myself to disobey him, even when he dares me too.

"You know what, Mare, you're just going to have to go to the reaping wet like that; I don't think we have time for you to change."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Yes, _Mother_," I spit.

"Hey, no need to get snarky here, Mare. I'm only trying to take care of you."

"And taking care of me involves arriving to the reaping four hours early, how exactly . . .?"

"More like four minutes early, and if you don't hurry up, it's not even going to be that."

I roll my eyes, but I do as he says and allow him to tow me along to the town square where District Four's reaping will be taking place.

"Mare!"

Of course, the moment Cinitha, our escort, spots me, she has to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She ignores Tidal. She never liked Tidal very much.

I wave goodbye to Cinitha, and she goes over to the reaping bowls. "Let's shake things up and start with males this year, shall we, since for the past few years now we've been going with females first."

She clears her throat and enunciates each syllable of the reaped boy's name, though of course there's no need, because a Volunteer is sure to follow.

"Troy Zeller."

Whatever efforts some older males are making to Volunteer, none even catch my eye but the boy strutting to the stage like he owns it, and shoving everyone else behind him.

He blows a few kisses into the crowd, directed at some girls, and he even blows one each to Cinitha and me.

The blond-haired boy snatches the microphone out of Cinitha's clutches, before she even has a chance to hand it to him and bursts into song.

Well, not exactly song.

More like a poem recited in rhythm.

"Yo.

"Yo.

"Da name's Connor Poe.

"I am gonna be your next Victor,

"not your pain inflictor.

"So bet on me.

"For a District Four victory."

By the times Connor concludes, many of the district citizens have their hands clamped over their ears.

Cinitha's hand flies up to her heart and she draws back from Connor.

"Forgive me, but what was that awful sound that you infested my ears with there, boy?"

Connor smiles brightly at the crowd. "It's rap."

There is a faint groan from a few people in the crowd. Maybe they knew of his "rap" beforehand? I'd like to know what exactly it is, though if it's only what he demonstrated for us already, I'm not sure how much more I'd like to hear.

"I'll take him," I whisper to Tidal.

He looks surprised and I grin at him. "You heard me. He's my tribute. The girl'll be yours. Enjoy."

I want to annoy him. I want to make him pay for thinking he can control me. He thinks he's trying to protect me, thinks he's being nice by allowing me to choose my tribute first. Well, I'll choose whoever has a lesser chance of winning, just to get under his skin and prove that his protection of me by letting me choose is not working.

"And now for the females!"

"Sierra Rosini!"

Instantly there's about twenty or thirty girls rushing up to the stage.

A desperate shout, a plea, from the crowd. "No! Please! No! I want to keep the spot! No Volunteer! Please!" Her voice cracks on the last syllable. She's crying out in utter desperation.

She's sprinting towards the stage. She grabs the microphone out of Cinitha's hand, just like her district partner did. "I'm Sierra Rosini." She glares down at the crowd. "Don't any of you _dare _try to Volunteer." Her glare is one of the most icy looks of pure hatred I've ever seen.

They back off, once it becomes clear to them that they won't get their shot at Volunteering anyway, and Sierra will be pretty much ready to murder them should they even attempt to.

"Tributes, shake hands."

I snort and turn to Tidal. "So, what to we have this year; Mr. Rap, whatever that means, and Miss Reaped. Perfect. They sound almost identical. We can even put them together: Mr. and Miss Rap 'n' Reaped."

Tidal does not laugh. "Never underestimate a tribute, Mare. I know you have a tendency to always think the worst of people, but underestimating a tribute is never good."

That silences me, and I refuse to look at him anymore, training my eyes on Sierra and Connor unflinchingly, even when Tidal tries to wave his hand in front of my face to get my attention.

* * *

**Plasma Grettal, District Five Male**

**Victor of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games**

* * *

Jezabel smirks at me for a split second and then flips her silky jet-black hair over her shoulder as we pass by some men around her age heading towards the reaping.

I grimace. "There's no need to put on a show here, Jezabel, everyone knows that you have the pretty little Capitol-made face of a Victor. No need to flaunt."

She ignores me. She almost always does. She thinks she's too good for me. She's not. I'm a Victor just like she is. Maybe compared to her I'm old news, Jezabel having one merely three years ago, but I'm a Victor all the same, and I don't like that Jezabel does not treat me with respect as such.

Jezabel and I, as mentors, are forced to sit next to each other, but from the way her nostrils flare up at even the sound of my name, I can tell that she hates working with me every bit as much as I do working with her.

Looking out at all the people, I spot Flasha's beautiful face in an instance. She's holding Sparks' hand tightly in hers, and Flarence is standing right next to them. My wife and sons. They are my world; what I live for. Unlike Jezabel, who is just as much of a bitchy spoiled brat now as she was before she entered the arena, I was changed by my experiences in there. I met a girl - my district partner. I thought I was in love. I wasn't, - I know that now - but as a seventeen-year-old who just wanted someone to cling to, I somehow got the idea into my head that I was in love with Siter Minch. I never told her. She died. I lived. End of story.

At least, I thought it was the end of the story. But then I met Siter's sister, Flasha, and I realized that I was just a confused teenager, and though I did love her in a way, it was only a brotherly way. That was what I'm sure I was destined to be to her. A brother. Or brother-in-law to be more precise. But then the Capitol got in the way of all that, and now she's nothing more than the girl that Flasha cries about sometimes at night.

Flasha's pretty much moved on from Siter's death I think. We now have two beautiful sons to focus on anyway. Flarence is eleven-years-old, and Sparks is turning nine in two weeks. They're growing up so fast; next year Flarence will be old enough to be reaped. I try not to think about that, but nothing can stop these thoughts from creeping up into my mind, attempting to haunt me.

"Ick. Can you stop ogling your wife for like, one second?" Jezabel barely even looks at me when she scolds me, instead focusing on her newly manicured nails.

This is why I avoid Jezabel at all costs whenever I can. She won't let me enjoy anything. Not even Flasha who is one-hundred percent mine to enjoy.

"Hello, District Five!"

Burly Fratz is a heavy-set man who only recently started his job as escort. Three years ago to be exact; the year that Jezabel won her Games. I hate to favor one tribute over the other, but Jezabel's year, I really was trying to pool all of our sponsor money together for her district partner to come home. Well, at least it was a District Five victory . . . though in all honesty I think I'd prefer to be the sole post Seventy-Fifth Victor from District Five than be forced to work with Jezabel on anything, least of all trying to get two kids through the Games.

Burly's all right. I have nothing personal against him, but sometimes I can simply not stand his presence. I don't know, maybe I just don't like Capitol people in general. Maybe I resent him for never having to live in fear for his life every reaping day of his teenage years. I know that the Hunger Games was not Burly's idea, but that does not help my opinion of him very much. It does not change the fact that he does not have to face the Games, purely because he was born in a more fortunate place.

"Let's kick off this reaping with your male tribute, shall we?"

He waits for an answer. When none comes, he simply carries on with his routine, as if there had been a collective response in the affirmative.

"James Sern."

James cooperates and does not need to be helped up to the stage by Peacekeepers the way I did when I was reaped all those years ago. Our newest male tribute comes from the seventeen-year-old section. He's the same age as I was when I entered the Games . . .

James walks up to the stage wearing a grim expression, but he does not break down crying or anything. I suppose that might be a good sign. Maybe James is strong-willed enough to get himself through this.

"And your female tribute is," Burly unfolds the piece of paper with his chubby fingers, "Summer Blaze."

I can easily deduce that the girl with all of the streaks in her hair is Summer, based on the highly audible swear word (even from way up here) that comes out of her mouth. Jezabel beams. "I-"

"I call her," I cut Jezabel off from reciting those exact three words..

She fumes. "Come on, Plasma, you only said that because you knew I wanted her!"

"Smart girl you are, Jezabel," I say with a sneer.

Summer is dragged up to the stage by two Peacekeepers, one holding each arm. Once up on the stage, she nervously takes the microphone from Burly, as if about to introduce herself.

_They already know who you are, Summer. They heard your name being called. _I mentally scoff at her.

Summer laughs awkwardly. "Um. I'm Summer. Like the fourth season. In the fifth district. Summer Blaze, yep that's me." Suddenly, she seems to gain a lot more confidence. "You know, the fourth season . . . and also the _blazing_ hottest." She winks at a couple of guys in the crowd, and they cheer for her.

I beam. "Have fun with James, Jezabel. Summer and I are going all the way."

Jezabel's face is growing redder by the minute.

Burly wraps things up then. "Ladies and gentlemen, your District Five tributes in the One-Hundred First Hunger Games, James Sern and Summer Blaze!"

James and Summer shake hands, and thus the District Five reaping concludes.

* * *

**Glass Wheeler, District Six Male**

**Victor of the Eightieth Hunger Games**

* * *

I try not to grimace at the look of pure adoration Halette gives Byke.

Halette's a great girl. She's never done anything wrong to me in all the years I've known her since I mentored her in the Games eleven years ago. Heck, I'm pretty sure she's hardly done anything really wrong in her life. She practically radiates kindness. I know I'm not being fair, but I just really can't stand the way she and Byke are so in love.

It's selfish of me. I know. My only love left me for another man, and now I can't even take for a sweet young woman whom I know well and am quite fond of to have found someone so close to her heart. I've been trying not to feel this way; not to envy Halette. She deserves to be so in love and engaged like she is. I just feel as though I deserve it too.

Byke puts an arm around Halette and squeezes her to his chest. They are deep in conversation as the three of us walk towards the reaping, and though Halette tries to include me as well, I'd rather just stay out of it.

Byke's not even a Victor. He never entered the Hunger Games. He does not know what it's like. Yet, it seems like he hangs around the Victor's Village more than I do these days.

I've never told anyone about my Morphling addiction, but I think Halette has it figured out a long long time ago. I've never used it in front of her, but she tends to keep a close eye on me, and no doubt she's been noticing the way my skin sags down and has taken on a disgusting yellowish tinge. She probably noticed even when she was a little girl just watching the reaping with me up on stage before she herself was even reaped; she's a rather observant girl and it's pretty apparent just by looking at me.

I started it to get away from the pain. Self-inflicted pain, mind you, but pain nonetheless. Even after all these years, I have not gotten over my first kill. I have not gotten over my second kill either. Or my third. Or my fourth. Or my fifth. Yes, that's right. Five kills. In a Career district, I would be a legend. Here in Six, I'm a monster. I killed my own district partner. I was not thinking straight at the time. I could think only of Acure, the girl I loved more than the whole rest of the world put together. I did it all just for her and yet, when I got back, she wanted nothing to do with me. She shunned me. She spat at me like I was some sort of filthy animal. I never stopped loving her though, even when she ran off with that wretched Vinish Bridge, never to speak another word to me again.

I cut myself. First once, only to see . . . It lasted for a while though. Obviously, being as I'm standing right here today, I never committed suicide, but it was definitely a possibility floating around in the back of my mind. Then, I decided I wanted the pain to stop. I did not realize until then exactly how much it hurt me. I turned to Morphling. It helped with the pain. And I've been hooked on the stuff ever since.

Halette never mentioned anything about it. I don't know, maybe she feels awkward doing so? After all, this all happened years and years before she and I even met.

Halette's giggle draws me back to reality, and I watch as Byke gives her a light peck on the cheek and whispers something in her ear before taking off to be lost in the swarming mob of District Six citizens.

"Excited?" Halette asks.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't call it excited, no."

She sighs and looks at me earnestly, bright blue eyes wide. "Glass?"

"Mm?"

"Does it ever get any better?"

"For me it didn't," I answer honestly. "It's been eleven years already for you already, Halette. You seem to be doing just fine though. Better than me by far."

"I know," she replies. Her gaze is sympathetic. "I wasn't asking for myself."

I blush deeply when I realize that she was talking about me. She was asking whether I think I'll ever be able to get off of Morphling and get back into my life. What scares me most is that I just don't know the answer.

The reaping begins and Halette and I fall silent. I'm grateful for the excuse not to respond.

"Manuel Maxwell, come on down!"

The fifteen-year-olds part and one boy is left standing, frozen in shock, unmoving.

He does not say anything. He just stands there. The boy has perfect posture, a part of my brain notes, though that it rather irrelevant. The gears in his brain seem to be turning, as if it's dawning on him all of a sudden that his life is most likely about to end and he's unsure of how to react to his newfound fate.

The Peacekeepers escort Manuel up to the stage, but he remains rigid, his feet walking, placing themselves one in front of the other repeatedly, but I can tell that his mind is detached.

Manuel's hair is black and spiky, sticking up in every which way. I recognize his surname instantly, and even his face resembles that of his grandfather. He was said to possibly be the worst mayor this district has ever seen.

And the female. "Kerr Dolce, welcome to the Hunger Games!"

Kerr joins Manuel on her own, without help from the Peacekeepers. As she does so, she sighs in defeat, as if she had been expecting this all along, but clinging to the slightest hope that it would not end up coming true. For a moment, her big blue eyes glance down to her lower abdominal area, and she sighs.

I hate to be such a pessimist, but the odds are not in Kerr's favor. First of all, she's tiny for a girl who just came from among the eighteen-year-olds. In addition, this is only judging based on first impressions, but she does not look like the type to kill willingly. Then again, I might not have looked like that type to my mentor originally, and I wound up with no less five kills.

"You mentor Kerr, I'll mentor Manuel."

I shrug at Halette. "Whatever you say boss."

She laughs quietly. Halette always decides who mentors which tribute. It's just a part of the way she and I do our job. Halette knows what's best for me and what's best for her. I'm not so sure of either, so her picking for me is just one less burden on my shoulders and works out best for both of us and both tributes anyway most of the time.

"District Six, your tributes for the One-Hundred First annual Hunger Games: Manuel Maxwell and Kerr Dolce!"

* * *

**Palmette Elmer, District Seven Female**

**Victor of the Ninety-Fourth Hunger Games**

* * *

"Ready to go?" I chirp, invading Redwood's home like any true friend would in order to wake him up bright and early for reaping day.

"Seriously, Palmette, the reaping's not for hours. Leave me alone." He's always grouchy in the morning.

Redwood is sort of like an uncle to me. Not really a brother, but not quite a father either. More like a mush of the two that's sort of like an uncle. Basically, he's practically my family. If I were anyone else, he would probably have me arrested for invading his privacy like this, but me, I can do it.

"No it's not, silly, you slept late again. You have six minutes."

I wink at him, tossing the pair of slacks I find strewn across the floor at him, and exit without another word.

It takes Redwood four of our precious six minutes to get dressed and ready - yes, he's quite fast indeed, multi-tasker he is - and three for us to sprint as fast as our legs can carry us to the reaping. That's only one minute late this year. I'm quite proud of Redwood actually.

I stifle a laugh as we slide in to our seats atop the stage. This has pretty much our annual reaping routine every year since my victory seven years ago, and I must say it's working pretty nicely for us.

Thinera Columns, District Seven's escort, is a kind-hearted woman, but she just does not know how to stop talking. Redwood complains to me about her as he does year after year, and I remind him that she is a kind lady, and that there is nothing wrong with being talkative.

After what may have been anywhere from twenty minutes to three hours of idle chitchat, (one-sided chitchat, that is) Thinera finally runs out of things to say to the district, and continues with her job of reaping the tributes for the Games.

"Birdy Rhodes!"

A loud, drawn out cry from the audience.

"Birdy, my dear. Come on down now! Don't be shy!" Thinera is smiling and nodding encouragingly, but it's doing nothing to help Birdy.

"Birdy! Birdy! I won't let them take you to the Capitol! They want to send you to an arena filled with evil things! Evil, Birdy! Evil!"

The voice is feminine. A masculine one joins it.

"No! Please! Don't take her! Don't take her! Please!" He's pleading. With who? Thinera maybe? It doesn't matter though. It's no use. Nothing he or he woman can say or do is going to keep Birdy from being dragged along with us to the Capitol, and eventually the Games.

The man and woman to whom these voices belong are clinging to the reaped girl who is wailing loudly, each of them clutching one of her arms with all their force, eyes trained fixedly on Birdy's freckle filled face.

Peacekeepers are sent down to pry the two adults away, and they go kicking and screaming.

Another set of Peacekeepers carries Birdy up to Thinera. The blue eyed girl is shaking the whole time.

I sigh. "Poor Birdy."

"She doesn't even know the worst of it yet," Redwood agrees.

He looks at me for verification that our deal is still on, and I nod in agreement that it is. I deal with the weaker tributes, he gets the stronger-looking ones. He says it's because I understand people better, and he's too harsh.

Thinera reads the name of Birdy's district partner. "Forest Sunflower!"

The boy revealed, when the eighteen-year-olds part to make room for him to walk, is tanned with extremely dark hair and eyes.

He's muttering to himself, shaking his head no, mouthing things. Eventually, it seems to be too much for Forest to take, and he crumples to the ground, still shaking.

A minute goes by. Then another. Then another. Ten more minutes.

Finally, Forest wakes with a jolt. He looks off into the crowd, seeking a particular face. It's that of a girl. At least, I think she's a girl. Her features seem to be pretty girlish, but her face is almost completely covered by the hood of her black sweatshirt, so it is difficult for me to be certain. She gives Forest a firm nod, and he stands up - albeit a little clumsily - and forces himself to stumble up onto the stage.

I bite my lip. "Well, neither of them were exactly composed this year, but-"

"Take the girl. She's younger. She seems like she needs the support more than the boy as well."

I shrug. "All right."

"And Palmette?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

"Thanks," I mutter, but my "you too" gets lost in my throat, as Birdy and Forest, both shaking like mad, manage to shake hands and face the crowd, their last moments before bidding farewell to their loved ones and being shipped off to the Capitol.

* * *

**Silk "Bonnie" Bonnet, District Eight Female**

**Victor of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games**

* * *

Anyone who says time heals all wounds is a liar. I mean, maybe for some people, like Tulle for example, it's true. She seemed to bounce right back within a week of the conclusion of her Games, lucky girl she is. But me? No. I still live in fear of those wretched mutations that sprouted from the ground in my earth themed arena and _consumed_ my district partner.

I'll never forget the way the Male from District One and Female from District Four worked as a team to kill my other ally, the District Six boy, exactly two nights before my district partner died. The boy from One held him down with those enormous arms of his by the throat. As he gasped for air, I hate to say this but we just watched. Yes, me and Leather, my district partner, were too frozen to move until the girl from Four stabbed him straight in the heart, and it occurred to us that if we did not run at that very second we would be next.

Then Leather was killed - or rather, eaten - by the insect mutts and I was left all alone, in the final three with none other than the very same girl from Four and boy from One who killed my ally.

Lucky for me, they wound up killing each other.

I never really got over Leather's death, though. Or Hyundai, the boy from Six's death either.

Leather was the first one who thought of my nickname. I was fourteen at the time. Or maybe fifteen by then. I'm not really sure. (My fifteenth birthday took place in the arena, and the dates all sort of got blurred together in my brain.) I never liked the name Silk. The fabric names might fit some people in District Eight perfectly. Tulle, for example. Me though? No. Not at all. I was contemplating switching to "Bonnet" if I managed to get out of the arena alive, but Leather insisted that I call myself Bonnie from then on. I do. It's all I can do for him now. It's not much, but it's all I can do.

Looking in the mirror of my bedroom, I finger the gray streaks in my brunette hair, and watch my mirror counterpart do the same. I grin. I'm glad for the streaks. No, I'm not getting that old just yet; they're from the arena, from stress. I refused to sit and have them dyed back to brown in the Capitol when I returned, and here they still are to this day. I'm rather proud of myself actually. I can't believe they actually did as I asked and did not dye them back . . .

I glance at the clock at my bedside, and dash down the staircase, stuffing a slice of bread as I pass through the kitchen; it is the first thing my fingers find.

Tulle is waiting for me outside, looking flawless as always with her flowing blond hair, clear skin, and sparkling blue eyes. I don't pity her, like I do most girls who look that perfect; Tulle doesn't spend too long focusing on her appearance, she just _is _gorgeous. Naturally. That's all right with me, though I cannot imagine liking it on myself.

Leshro says a soft hello to the two of us, on our way up to the stage, and even helps Tulle up in a gentlemanly fashion. It's a nice gesture, but I'm glad he does not do the same to me, because I'm not a big believer in chivalry or any sort anymore. Chivalry directed at me, that is. If he wants to be kind to Tulle than that's sweet of him.

Leshro is not the talkative type. He does his job and gets on with his day. It's a good thing, too, because I don't know if I could bare to sit at the reaping any longer than absolutely necessary year after year, knowing that two kids are about to go through something that could very well be just as bad or worse than what I went through as a child.

It's with an air of serenity he reads the names, not too emotional or excitable, which is good because it does wonders in terms of calming the children's nerves for some reason.

"Terra Beasley will be your female tribute this year." He smiles softly at the crowd.

Terra does not come up right away, and I begin to grow impatient waiting for her.

I'm just about contemplating taking a quick nap when Tulle grabs my shoulder and indicates that Terra is coming up towards the stage.

Her lightly tanned face is void of all emotion as she makes her way towards us. She does not say a word, and Leshro does not try to encourage her to.

"And Solris Reen will be joining her as your male tribute this year."

Solris is shaking like mad, and it looks like each step is taken with difficulty, but he forces himself to ascend the stairs all on his own. On his face there seems to be some sort of conflict going on as well. It's as if he's trying to put on a brave expression and make himself seem more like the muscular strong man that he clearly is not based off of the lack of muscles bulging from his arms. But despite all of his attempts at looking courageous, I can tell that Solris Reen looks as though he'd just like to break down and cry.

"Terra seems more your type," Tulle comments thoughtfully.

I nod my agreement. "Yeah, she does. But Solris is not quite as cute as Thorrer from last year, isn't he?"

She slaps me lightly on the shoulder, but she's laughing.

Tulle was positively obsessed with a twelve-year-old tribute we had a couple of years ago, and sometimes I tease her playfully for it, but, obviously, I have to be careful, as his death was hard on her to say the least, and she can still be sensitive about it at times.

"Not quite," she agrees.

* * *

**Wheaten Satch, District Nine Male**

**Victor of the Eighty-Sixth Hunger Games**

* * *

Ryta and I stand a little ways apart as we travel together to the reaping. She rotates with only one other Victor from Nine, so it's not like I'm not used to mentoring with her, it's just that we're not exactly what one would call the best of friends. We really have virtually nothing in common, besides for the fact that we're both Victors and from District Nine. Well, I guess you could say that that's a pretty big thing to have in common, but somehow it doesn't really seem to mean much to either of us. It seems as though we have nothing to talk about.

She's a lot older than me, for starters. Districts Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve are the only four that have yet to bring home two Victors after the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, and therefore we're the only four districts with people mentoring who won before the Seventy-Fifth. You could say that four is a third of the districts, but somehow it doesn't seem like that large of a percentage, and it makes me, here is District Nine, feel almost . . . _inferior_ to the first eight Districts.

Ryta and our other living Victor, Watia, (also pre-Seventy-Fifth) alternate every other year. This year's Ryta's. Back when I was in the Games Watia was my own mentor, and it's cool to work with her, but Ryta and I together are just plain awkward. I wish Watia could just join me every year, but alas, we are commanded to rotate.

Little by little Ryta seems to be veering off to the side. She checks behind her shoulder, looking for Watia probably. Watia's the only one who can really ease the discomfort and tension between Ryta and I. Or at least, she used to be. She used to be neutral ground between Ryta and I. Now that both of them have come out as lesbian and have started dating, it's really rather awkward for me. I'm just a third wheel who has to work with one of the two of them every year, whether they like it or not. The "not" part was referring to Ryta; Watia likes me well enough for me to enjoy her company.

I don't speak a word to Ryta as the male tribute's name is drawn.

I watch the reaping intently as it plays out; if I don't then I run the risk of making undesired eye-contact with Ryta.

"Cameron Markensti!"

Cameron's march up to the stage is slow. His eyes keep flashing over to a woman who has gone white as a ghost just the way that he, Cameron, has. She looks like she wants to speak, cry out, do something, but she does not. She cannot. She's too shocked and fearful to say or do anything but for letting the tears fall silently.

Cameron does not say anything, but I can see the worry and fear clear as day in his deep brown eyes. Poor kid.

"Catt Williams!" The girl tribute.

A string of curses spurts from an eighteenyear-old Catt Williams' mouth as she herself comes into view. Some mothers even cover the ears of the young children standing with them, still not old enough to be reaped.

_Wow, she's hot. _That's the first thought that runs through my head when I see her. It's a thought that I am rather ashamed of, but how can I be expected to control what I think or feel?

I whip around to face Ryta, just as she does the same to me.

We speak in unison: "I'll take her."

I give her a shove. "Filthy whore!" I snap. "I can see you checking her out. She's about a third of your age, Ryta. Not to mention the fact that _you have a girlfriend_."

She looks genuinely offended. "Fine. Take her. I'll make do with Cammy over there. But don't you _ever _speak to me like that again, Wheaten Satch. I was most certainly _not "_checking out" a teenage girl in any way shape or form. Consider me offended by your comment, Wheaten."

And with that, she gets up and storms off the stage and onward with a huff. For a moment I consider following her, but I don't think she would like that very much. I catch Watia's eye and she lifts one shoulder, then lowers it. I nod at her, and she sighs in defeat, getting up to follow Ryta.

Good thing the reaping is over in about five seconds, because two Victors leaving in the middle of a reaping truly can stir up some commotion . . . oh wait, there's still five seconds left . . . it's bound to stir up a whole lot of commotion right about now.

Maybe I should get out of here as well before I get some unwanted questions thrown my way regarding the two of them . . .

* * *

**Evee Linx, District Ten Female**

**Victor of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games**

* * *

I sit up in bed the morning of the reapings of the One Hundred and First Hunger Games, thinking about that number for a moment: they always try to make the Games the year after a Quarter Quell memorable, because they tend to go unnoticed when people look back compared to the Quell. Of course, last year's Quell supposedly "backfired" when a thirteen-year-old girl from District Twelve escaped the Games as Victor without killing or even hurting a single other tribute.

I long to put my head back down and sleep through the whole afternoon, but I'm not _that _cowardly.

Besides, apparently I'm supposed to "set a good example for Oxford," whatever that's supposed to mean. He's a big boy. He should know what to do by now. But it is a tradition in District Ten - in all of Panem, I think, but for sure here in Ten - that the mentors walk to the reaping together

Upon my waking, the day passes by too quickly, as it always does. For some reason, it seems as though afternoon comes faster on reaping day than any other day.

Heaving a sigh, I slowly make my way outside and sit down on the steps leading up to my mansion in the Victor's Village. The only one living with me is Mother, and though I do love her very much, it can get quite lonely at times. Sometimes Oxford chooses to hang out with me, but he's a full twenty-one years my junior and, despite my being told by many that I'm still a child at heart, he really seems to have enough of me as is, and is not interested in forming any sort of real binding friendship beyond how friendly we already are with one another.

The time is ticking by, and still no Oxford. It irks me how late he always is. I should be used to it by now, having known him well since the Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games when he was a tribute.

"Evee, why so early?" Oxford teases when he finally arrives.

I roll my eyes. "Oxford, we'd better get going. You know, one of these days I'm just going to leave without you."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Ooh, real threatening Evee."

We choke laughter in unison for a moment. Once we've both calmed down I say, "Sorry, Oxford. I guess I'm not all that threatening. But would it kill you to show up on time for once in your life?"

Now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Technically, I'm early. You just have an obsession with getting everywhere at least two hours before the scheduled time, which is why your always waiting for me."

What he is saying is the truth, I realize.

I cluck my tongue and shrug my shoulders once. "Guess I'll have to work on that."

We're walking now, towards the town square where scores of people are swarming in to witness the reaping, must wearing grave expressions on their faces, probably thinking about their own children or loved ones being reaped.

Frisco, our escort, winks at me as Oxford and I ascend the staircase before he begins reaping this year's District Ten Female.

His voice is booming. It reverberates throughout the town square, reaching the ears of each and every citizen, and snapping each of them into the moment.

"Lainey Bristol," he says.

My stomach drops when I realize that the children parting to make way for Lainey to come through are the smallest out of all the kids of reaping age. Lainey is only twelve.

Does it have to be a twelve-year-old? I have been much good at stomaching the deaths of the young ones. Usually I end up with my breakfast coming back up. I've always been sensitive in general and had a weak stomach but when it comes to the youngest of the children, something about it just really gets to me.

But, despite all this, I always personally mentor the younger of the two children that are reaped, and if they are the same age, then I take the smaller of the two. I am simply drawn to them for some reason.

When Lainey's face is revealed, I'm bracing myself for heart to melt at the look of utter terror upon it, until I realize that no such look exists.

Her blond head is cocked to the side, and she's looking up at Frisco quizzically, blue-gray eyes opened wide with a thousand questions.

"Lainey Bristol," Frisco repeats.

At the sound of her name once again, it seems to dawn on Lainey that she did not imagine her name being the one called. Still, she makes no move to come up on stage.

Lainey keeps looking around, as if waiting for instructions on what to do next. She does not know what is going on. She does not know why her name was called. Who is this child that she could have reached twelve-years-old and not know what it means for her name to have been called on reaping day?

Lainey still makes no move to start walking up to the stage, though this year - unlike most others - it is because she does not know that this is what she is meant to do. Finally, Peackeepers are sent down to collect her, and she drags her feet along with them obediently, but the expression on her face shows clear as day that she has not a clue what's going on or where she is being taken.

When she is dumped down atop the stage, Lainey beckons Frisco quietly.

He leans down to her level, and places the microphone right below her rather large nose.

She puts a finger to her lip for a moment, then to her temple, before asking shamelessly. "Forgive me, Mister, but what exactly was I called for? I don't remember entering some sort of contest or anything. Can _anyone _really be chosen for the Hunger Games? By the way, what exactly are the Hunger Games? Do they really take real people into that show to . . . to get hungry or something? That's awful. My mother absolutely forbids me from watching that show, but I always thought that it was not real people . . . Is that where you are taking me? For real? To get hungry? It's fake though isn't it? Not really hungry, just for fun on television for everyone to watch? Right? Right, Mister?"

I want to just reach out and give Lainey a big hug. She doesn't even know what she's getting into.

If I could, I would pull Lainey into my lap and explain to her soothingly what exactly is about to be happening to her over the course of the next few weeks and why her name was called, but Frisco just sighs and tells her that yes, anyone her age can be chosen for the Hunger Games and no, it's not only about getting hungry.

Lainey looked like she still had a thousand more questions to ask, but Frisco silenced her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Maybe Evee or Oxford will be kind enough to explain the rest to you later."

Then the male tribute is called, and what happens is even more bizarre than Lainey not knowing what she was just reaped for.

"Alexander Penn," he calls out.

Alexander is also very young. He comes out of the thirteen-year-olds section, looking like he has a lot of questions as well, but before Alexander can do anything but stand in his place, face whitened in shock, he is pushed to the side by an almost identical figure to himself. The second boy does not look back as he walks up to the stage. Not until he is standing right at Lainey's side does he say, "I Volunteer as tribute."

Throughout the whole phenomenon, the second boy - the Volunteer - remains in a daze of sorts, as if experiencing it all in a dream.

At first, Frisco is too startled to do anything but stare shamelessly at Alexander's savior, occasionally glancing back to Alexander himself as well.

After a moment, Frisco snaps out of it. "W-what's your name?"

"Alistair Penn," he answers, still seemingly in that dream-like state.

"Alistair Penn," Frisco repeats. "And that was-"

"My brother," the boy - Alistair - cuts him off. "Twin brother." I notice that Aistair's small body is shaking with fear, but he is trying to suppress it.

Frisco is still quite startled at a thirteen-year-old kid Volunteering, but is trying hard to contain it.

"Well, that was very brave of you, Alistair," he offers. I hear him muttering under his breath, "stupid, but brave." I don't think Alistair hears that part, though.

"So there you have it!" Frisco concludes. "Ladies and gentlemen of District Ten, here are your tributes for the One Hundred and First Hunger Games, Lainey Bristol and Alistair Penn!

Tributes, shake hands," he commands. Lainey opens her mouth to ask what she would be having to do with this boy that she has to shake his hand, but Frisco interrupts her with his exclamation of "may the odds be ever in your favor," directed at both her and Alistair, but said facing the crowd

"My odds for what?" Lainey questions, but her query goes unanswered, and Frisco dashes of the stage as soon as his duties are fulfilled, so as not to be wrapped up in more interrogations from Lainey.

* * *

**Sod Cropper, District Eleven Male**

**Victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games**

* * *

I can still feel the scorching hot desert sand on my back.

It's been thirty-two years, and yet, I remember my Games as if they ended only yesterday. It's not really fair that I was the Victor. I had no skill. I just got lucky. I had no allies. No friends in the arena. All I had was my hiding place, in a trapdoor I found leading to a cool space under the sand. I was able to remain in there until the final two, when my opponent, the female tribute from District Eight, was already extremely injured, and I felt almost _obliged _to put her out of her misery.

No one else from Eleven who ever won that I know was like that. Tulip, Chrysanthemum, and Azalea, the only three female Victors District Eleven ever had, (Quaker and I are the only two males) all used to speak to me of the horrors they faced in the arena and the guilt that they still face. They were a lot older than me. Chrysanthemum was District Eleven's first ever Victor - winner of the the Sixth - and died before I was born, but her story was passed on to me by Tulip and Azalea. Azalea was left in an unhealthy state after her Games, a state that even the Capitol was not able to cure one hundred percent. She lived for about a dozen years thanks to the Capitol's remedies, but died just a few years ago. She never liked to talk about exactly what her arena or disease entailed, but it's nothing pretty, that much I know.

Tulip committed suicide three years back.

It was all so sudden. None of us even knew that she was depressed. One day, I just awoke to find her body strewn across the ground, a knife piercing her heart, with a note laid on her chest to Quaker and I.

I thought I would be going the same way as the other three Victors, but alas, I have no intentions of dying an early death as of now. I've even found love with the most amazing woman on the planet. Sure, maybe I'm a little bit older than most to have just been married ten years ago, but what do I care what anybody says?

It's kind of ironic actually. My children, my three beautiful little girls, are, aside from my wife, the only ones who really can keep my sane. They are the ones who make me totally committed to what I do as a mentor; to making sure I do my best to bring home another kid, so he or she does not loose out on the chance at love like I almost did.

The irony of it, though, is that I named them after Chrysanthemum, Azalea, and Tulip respectively. I told Soya - my wife - that I needed to pay tribute to their memories in this way. Yet, they are the ones who remind me that not all Victors end have to end up messed up. I can remain sane if I want to. And I most certainly do. So I will

Quaker and I don't speak much. We get along fine, but we each mostly keep to ourselves unless we are pushed together for whatever reason.

Most people actually do not like Quaker very much, if I'm honest. He's stuck up and high-maintenance, I'll be the first one to admit it, but for some reason, that just does not bother me as much as it does some people.

Quaker and I sit together as the female escort reads out the names of this year's tributes. It's been quite a while since Quaker won . . . Who knows? Maybe this year Eleven will have another Victor . . .

"Briony Creeks!" Her face is positively lit up with excitement as she calls the girl's name. She comes into view and the first thing I think is, in answer to my previous thought about this being a victory year for us, _or, more likely, this will _not_ be the year for a District Ten victory._

Briony is only thirteen and tiny; the light blue tattered dress dotted with flowers she's clothed in is practically falling off of her minuscule body. It probably belonged to two sisters, a mother, and a grandmother before her or something like that. With a pang I realize that she's not much older than my eldest daughter, Chrysanthemum. Well, five years is a lot, but time does fly. Soon enough, Chryssi's going to be in the reaping pool as well . . .

Briony does not cry, I'll give her that. That's incredibly brave of her, considering she's only thirteen. She barely does anything to show the fear that I imagine she is feeling upon her reaping but for tremble silently, and she manages to make it up to the stage on her own without complications.

"Hello, Briony," the escort, Dezala, greets her brightly. "Aren't you just so excited to be a tribute in this year's Hunger Games?"

She does not give Briony time to answer. (She's already reading the male tribute's name, by the time Briony figures out what she wants to say in response.)

"Martial Avalaine!"

I can tell that this is one of the tributes that we will need assistance from our Peacekeepers in order to transport him to the stage.

Looking closely, I can see the twitch in his right eye, as he plops himself down onto the pavement below his legs. He clutches at his brown knees and begins rocking back and forth right there on the ground.

Two Peacekeepers race down towards him, trying to work as a team to lift him up off the ground. When they attempt to do so, however, Martial's hands grope for their legs, clawing at them with all his might.

The two Peacekeepers take one look at each other, the one on the right giving his counterpart a nod, and they each grab one of Martial's hands before the boy can even register what is going on, and drag him behind them up to the stage.

He never gets up from the ground; his knees scrape against the hard, bumpy gravel the whole way through. It takes a while; Martial is still fighting for control of his own arms and body, but it's no use. His strength does not equal that of two Peackeepers combined by a long shot.

Once he finally reaches the stage, and they lift him up to a standing position, Martial's eyes fall upon his khaki slacks. On one of the pant legs, a hole has been created from the impact of the ground, and blood is bleeding through from his kneecap.

Martial's left arm begins to twitch as well now. He snarls in frustration at the lack of symmetry between his two legs.

Dezala is oblivious to Martial's obvious discomfort. "District Eleven, your tributes, Briony Creeks and Martial Avalaine!"

I don't even both asking Quaker which tribute he wants to mentor. He'll never take anyone under sixteen if there is a tribute over sixteen, for starters, and I can see it Quaker's approving look that Martial looks like a fighter to him.

I don't know what to make of either of these tributes yet, but I can tell what Quaker is thinking before I even figure out what I myself am. I know his mentoring style very well, and I know very well whom he is going to prefer. I think I'm even beginning to know his style better than my own. When I'm mentoring for the Games, there's no wife and daughters to keep me grounded and for me to give all my love to. The Games are sort of a fuzzy area for me; something I'm not too sure about, and am still figuring out after all this time. Quaker, on the other hand, actually seems to enjoy the job. He gets quite into the Games as a spectator, I'd say. Me? I just count down the days until I can scoop up my four wonderful girls in my arms and be able to say I'm home and where I belong.

* * *

**Peeta Mellark, District Twelve Male**

**Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games**

* * *

Iris is shaking by the time I reach her and wrap my arms around her little body. She won last year's Quarter Quell. The twist was that people of any age could be reaped for the Games. Iris was only thirteen (one of the only two tributes who were actually of normal reaping age; the other being sixteen) and she came out victorious, without killing or injuring a single other tribute; the other tribute in the final two with her ate some poisonous nightlock berries and killed himself. My Games. Foxface. Katniss and I. A shudder ripples through me almost as severe as the one a year ago when Iris when the twenty-three year-old District Five Female - looking much like an older version of Foxface - killed herself in such a way.

"I-I'm scared, Peeta," Iris admits in a small voice. I stroke her dark brown curls soothingly.

"Don't be," I tell her. "I'm here for you. You're such a brave girl. I know you can do it."

She's been through so much. It's awful to say, but when you loose your twin sister to the Games at the age of twelve, and win them yourself one year later, it is rather challenging to face mentoring. I wanted to do it all myself like I always have been, but I received a notice from the president himself that Iris must join me this year.

I'm old enough to be Iris' father, and in a way that is what I am to her. She has two real parents, as well, but over the past year she and I have become incredibly close, and I'm glad for that almost fatherly relationship I have with her. I have no children of my own; Iris is good company and I find myself hating to see her in pain.

I can hardly believe it; she's only fourteen and a mentor already.

Her blue-gray eyes bore into mine intensely as she takes my words to heart and nods eventually.

"Okay." She manages a small smile, and I see the dimple shining through on one cheek. "Let's go then."

We're the only two Victors on stage.

Arella Trinket is making her way up the stage, flashing her new bedazzled up-do of purple hair and matching violet rhinestone encrusted outfit every which way.

She waves excitedly at Iris and I, and Iris laughs once, evidently recalling a memory with Arella as her escort last year.

I take her small, prematurely callused hand in my own larger one just before the reaping begins. My subconscious mind remembers how soft her trembling hand was the first time it met mine a year ago, when I tried to calm her down the day we met.

"Ladies first, as per District Twelve tradition!" Arella squeals, and begins jumping up and down and clapping her palms together.

Iris squirms in the seat next to her, remembering the past two years when it was her (last year) and Valera, her sister, (the year before that) that were called right after Arella was finished with her whole "ladies first" spiel.

Arella giggles loudly and claps her white silk-gloved hands together in what she likes to call a ladylike fashion.

This time it's me who chuckles. She's different from her mother, Effie, in the specifics of how they express themselves, but the mentality is so undeniably similar.

Effie and Arella both, well their . . . annoying at first, that's for sure, but they both really have grown on me tremendously, once I gave them the chance.

"Saffron Irons!"

Some of the other sixteen-year-olds seem to heave a sigh, as the whole lot of them makes way for a dark haired girl in a ponytail to make her way through.

Saffron is too shocked to move a muscle, but for blinking her eyes every few seconds.

The girl standing behind her pushes her forward and she stumbles up to the stage where Arella is waiting for her and clasps her hand tightly. "Welcome, Saffron."

But Saffron is not focused on Arella. She keeps glancing back and forth between a cluster of kids in the eighteen-year-old section to some young girls in the thirteen-year-old section. With a jolt I am reminded that thirteen was Iris' age when she won the Games. Just like those small kids over there.

I smile kindly at Iris and give her hand a tight squeeze. She returns both gestures.

Still holding Saffron's hand in hers, Arella picks up the male slip and reads it out loud.

"Jax Conkel!"

The minute his name is called, a dark haired woman lets out a sob.

I look over at her and give Iris' hand another pump when I see the tears streaming down her face along with this woman's.

I can still remember from last year the haunting shrieks of Iris' parents when they realized that they were about to lose their second daughter just like they did their first. Thankfully, they were wrong in the notion that Iris was going to die, but she's certainly not the same peppy, cheerful little girl that I remember first meeting exactly one year ago.

Jax's eyes are clamped shut in an effort to keep himself from crying. His face is screwed up in concentration and he marches up the steps to the stage slowly.

Arella takes his hand in her free one and raises up both his arm and Saffron's, then letting go and uniting hers with Jax's.

"District Twelve, your tributes for the One Hundred First Hunger Games, Saffron Irons and Jax Conkel!"

I draw Iris closer to me and speak in a soft voice: "Iris, I think Saffron will be better for your first time. She seems . . . softer. And if it turns out that Jax is easier to work with, then I'll switch with you. Besides, this is all just for formalities, of course both mentors wind up helping out both tributes, every year. "

She pulls away and smiles at me, relief evident upon her small features. "Okay. Thank you Peeta. For everything."

"Don't thank me," I tell her. "If nobody ever won from our district I don't know what I would have done . . . lonely . . ."

I leave it at that, but I think she understands what I am saying.

The reaping draws to a close, and Iris and I walk down from the stage.

Suddenly, it occurs to me for that for the first time since my victory all those years ago, there'll be another person with me, with the exact same purpose as me. And not just any person, a girl. With me. For the purpose of the Hunger Games, though not in the Games themselves of course.

I have not had another person, let alone another teenage female, work with me on anything to do with the Games and District Twelve since Katniss (excluding the tributes, as they and I do not have the same role in the Games).

I'll be undoubtedly thinking about her even more than every other day now that I have another mentor with me. Another girl to go through this with.

My heart's going to break all over again pretty soon, and I know it.

But I have to stay strong for Iris' sake. If a fourteen-year-old girl can be strong, then a forty-three-year-old man certainly should be able to face his darkest terrors and feelings of dejection as well.

And for my sake too. And Saffron's and Jax's.

But most of all, I have to keep it together for her. For Katniss. Because that's what she would want of me. Because maybe, from heaven or wherever she is right now, she'll be looking down on me and smiling. Maybe she looks at Iris and thinks of Prim and is proud of me for taking care of a little girl in this way. And there's no way that I'm ever going to let down the love of my life again. It was my fault that she died in the first place; I should have held the drunken Haymitch back and not let him Volunteer for me, so I could protect her in the Seventy-Fifth Games somehow, even from the Capitol. But I didn't do any of that. And now she's gone.

Tears blur my vision. Iris looks at me sadly, but does not question me, which I'm grateful for.

_Katniss, wherever you are, I hope you're happy with me. But most of all, I just hope you're happy._

_I never stopped loving you._

_I love you._

_I will always love you._

* * *

**Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day**

* * *

**This is the Hunger Games. 23 of your tributes will die, as you know. Character deaths will be based on a number of things some of which include future story arcs and plot lines that I have in mind for the tribute, realism, which tributes I like best, and which the readers and submitters like best, and whether the submitter is reviewing the story. The only reason that this is included is that I think this is fair, because I'd like to keep tributes in the Games longer (if possible) if I know that the submitter is reading the story, and the only way for me to know this is if you review xD If not, I have no idea whether or not you're reading the story. You all knew the odds when you submitted a tribute. I'd love it if you stuck around and continued to read the story if/when your tribute perishes, but if not I understand.**

* * *

**Link to the blog for this story (just remove the spaces): heights101hg. blogspot. com**

**I would really appreciate it if you guys answered some of the questions I have for you at the end of each chapter xD**

_**Which mentors/districts stood out to you, if any and why?**_

_**Which tributes stood out to you, if any and why?**_

_**And, of course, How was my writing in this chapter? **_**(yeah, I'm going to put this one for every chapter, because I want to know it every chapter. Sorry if it gets boring!)**

* * *

**Oh gosh, this chapter was a lot longer than I anticipated! I apologize for the length :( I hope it wasn't that bad and I did all of your amazing tributes justice!**

**Speaking of the tributes, starting next chapter we will be hearing from them :) There will be four Capitol chapters with 12 POVs in each before the Games start! (So, each tribute will get 2 POVs before the Games)**


	4. Break

**Here we have the chariot rides and first day of training to start off the Capitol chapters! :D I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Break**

_Tonight, I start the fire_

_Tonight, I break away_

* * *

**James Sern, District Five Male (17)**

* * *

Shema, Gladius, and Semter poke and prod at me, as I sit helpless in the chair they practically strangled me into, trying to make me look my best for the chariot parade. I scowl and give them each a death glare.

They ignore me. Shema is taking my hair in bunches, trimming off the edges.

"Don't touch me!" I growl at her.

Her neon yellow high heels glide across the marble floor clumsily, as if she's not used to walking in them. Her overly long eyelashes blink at me repeatedly.

"Now, now, James, was that very nice of you to say?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "You think I care if it was a nice thing to say?"

"James," she cautions. "Just apologize to me, and we can forgive and forget all of this. Just wait until your stylist comes in, James, that's when the real fun will begin for you."

I scoff. What an imbecile of a Prep-Team lady she is. "Don't talk to me! Don't touch me! Don't _look_ at me!" Shema's eyes widen, I think I can even see a few tears trying to make their way out. So she's offended. Good.

"And that goes for all of you!" I add, just in case Gladius and Semter were misled into the belief that I enjoy their company any more than I do Shema's.

"James?"

"Stop saying my name!" I can't stand people. None of them understand me. Rose was the only one who ever did. None of these three pitiful excuses for human beings understand what I am going through with losing Rose.

Shema is now flat out balling. Her stark white face is buried in Gladius' gold and silver arms, the latter whispering words of comfort into the stringy hair of the former.

I can't take them anymore. This is why I don't like talking to people. Shema, Gladius, and Semter are all lucky that I did not punch them each straight in the nose for exhibiting such disgusting physical contact upon me. That's usually how I react. I'm actually surprised at the self-control I'm showing, though It's on the verge of falling apart.

Semter tries to give me one last chance. Idiot.

"Your stylist, Marnella, will be here shortly. The three of us were only trying to properly prepare you like any Prep-Team should. Marnella has a great costume in store for you, I can assure you."

His cat-like eyes flicker to a tray on the table next to him.

Scraps of metal and buzzing wires and cables are present among other things.

I gasp. I don't need them. How did I not see this beforehand? I don't need Shema or Gladius or Semter, nor do I need this so-called Marnella.

"I'll be taking that," I say. I snatch the tray from the table, and keep walking on without a backwards glance.

I settle myself in the hallway, right outside the door t the very room that had just been graced with my presence.

I don't need people. Now that my Rose is gone, I don't think I will ever be able to have a normal conversation with anyone ever again. They all just irritate me. I much prefer to remain on my own.

Who needs a stylist? I've been working with these types of metals and wires all my life, constructing things far more difficult than a silly little dress-up costume. I can make my own outfit; one far beyond the dreams of Shema's dainty little pale hands, or Marnella's "skill" which I presume to be virtually nonexistent, though I suppose that's not a fair assumption having never met the woman, but that's besides the point. They will see me in my perfect costume, - years and years of experience allows me to already deduce that it will be far more perfect than that of my district partner, Summer, at the very least - but I will not give them the satisfaction of even glancing their way, contempt in my own knowledge of how the Capitol will love the costume so much more than any other one a dssDistrict Five tribute has ever been clothed in.

This will just prove that I do not need others. I needed Rose, that much I will never deny. I still need Rose. But now Rose is gone where she can never come back to me again. So there's no one else that I need to rely on. Since Rose was forced to leave me, and especially since her tragic early demise, I have remained in this mindset of mine that me, myself, and I are the only three important people left in my life.

And I do not intend on this outlook I have on life being swayed.

* * *

**Saffron Irons, District Twelve Female (16)**

* * *

Jax and I wait with our eyes closed. Our stylists, Jayra and Klark, decided that the two of them simply could not wait any longer to show us our chariot. We are not even clothed in our chariot costumes yet, but, to quote Jayra, this will be just too perfect for us darlings to wait any longer to see.

Jayra and Klark steer Jax and I forward respectively.

The smell hits me even before Jayra or Klark can tell me to open my eyes. The acrid smell of smoke is practically burning my nostrils. I'm pretty sure Jax cannot sense it; that Jayra and Klark have provided us with faux fire smelling only the faintest bit like actual smoke. But my nostrils can sniff out the fire anywhere.

_Fire._

I wrap my arms around myself. Goosebumps are forming under my fingers and I squeeze and rub myself harder.

"Three . . ." says Jayra, "two . . . one . . . open!" On the last word she yips with delight and Jax and I do as she asks.

My teeth begin to chatter and I tremble with fear.

_Fire._

I'm going to be burned alive just like Clary. I can already tell. Except in my case it's going to be before the Games even begin.

_Fire._

Jax touches my arm gently. "You okay, Saffron?"

Jayra and Klark are still hopelessly oblivious as to what is going on with me right in front of them.

"F-Fine," I stammer. "I'm f-fine." I don't want him to have to worry about me. All of us tributes already have so much on our minds, and for me to burden my district partner with one more worry would be horrible.

"Are you- Are you scared?"

I shrug. He's takes it as a yes. "Of fire?"

Shrug.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Saffron."

"Hey." He makes me look him in the eye. "Listen to me, Saffron." He has my full attention. "There's nothing to be afraid of; if anything happens on the chariot I . . . I promise I'll protect you."

I can't bring myself to speak. My cheeks are flooding with color. At the same time I smile the most grateful smile I can muster at him. That's very kind of him to promise me and I will always appreciate it, even though logically there is nothing that he can feasibly do to protect me should such a situation arise.

Jayra puts an arm on each of our shoulders. "Beautiful isn't she?"

I had not really looked past the fire encased within some sort of glass cases on all four sides of the chariot. As I do so now, though, I realize that it truly is a beautiful chariot and so very District Twelve. Coal is pressed up against the sides and bottom of the chariot, as if being thrown into the fire. Klark explains to us that the two of us with be coated in dirt from the neck down, but our faces will shine out and be seen from their positions above the fire pillars.

"All right then kiddies," says Jayra. "You can run along and play later. Right now we have work to do, making those little faces of yours as pretty as the chariot we have prepared for them.

She and Klark recede back into their offices, implying that Jax and I should follow them. Jax is about to do so when I call him back for a moment.

"That was really nice of you, Jax, what you said to me."

He smiles. "I hope you take it to heart, Saffron."

I beam at him and he's about to go off after Jayra when he whips back around and stares at me for a moment. Then he smiles, but his words are serious. "There are worse things in this world than pyrophobia, Saffron." He winks at me and then he is gone.

* * *

**Circuit "Kit" Tethra, District Three Female (17)**

* * *

Keon strolls towards me nonchalantly. His hands are at his sides and atop his head is a headdress so similar to my own, wires connected to a tin hat as if they are running through his brain.

I wave at him and he nods at me. We stand there for a moment in silence, each absorbed in our own thoughts.

Then something crosses Keon's face. It's almost like he . . . just got an idea?

"Wow," he says. "Wow. I cannot believe it did not click until now. Circuit Tethra?" Oh, so clearly it was not an idea that popped into his mind, but recognition of my face and placement of the name Circuit Tethra. I do not believe I know him though . . .

"In the flesh," I choke out with a smirk. How does he know me? And why does his name sound so familiar.

Watts . . . Watts . . . Keon Watts . . . Do we know each other? Certainly I would remember if we had met.

"I am a big fan of the work you and your friends do."

This catches me off guard. I can feel my eyes popping open. "W-What?" I splutter. "B-But h-h-how do-"

For a split-second Keon looks frustrated with himself, then he says. "You know. I just have a way of knowing things." He winks at me. "But like I said, huge fan, Kit - can I call you Kit?"

I nod at him.

Keon Watts . . . Keon Watts . . .

And then it hits me. Keon Watts is the son of two highly esteemed engineers back in District Three.

According to Digit's research, he is incredibly manipulative, playing people up so that he can use them to get what he wants. Digit is just about the sneakiest girl on the planet. Needless to say she's marvelous at what our group does.

I gulp, hopefully not audibly. Is that what Keon is trying to do with me?

Outwardly, I smirk at him, unwilling to let him see my dilemma. "Glad to see you're such a big fan of me and my friends."

The Breaching Bugs. That's the name of my little . . . gang, if you will. That's what he's referring to. But how does he know what we do? It's impossible . . . we all take precise steps planned in advance when performing a thievery or hacking so as not to be figured out and traced back to my parents' basement. And if he is aware of our work, then why does he sound so impressed? Surely most teenagers would not look up to another kid who steals for food and other staple items like Keon so clearly is now.

When the other Breaching Bugs said goodbye to me, they warned me about Keon. Did my fear interfere with my mind so much the day of the reaping that I could hardly even focus on the wonderful advice my friends must have been given? I scowl in frustration. Why does fear have to eat away at me like that?!

I do remember a bit of Digit and Glitch and the others cautioning me about trusting Keon. (Not Boolean of course, this was one conversation at my goodbyes that he did not contribute to.) They reminded me that he's manipulative and a jerk and that's why we were almost going to make his family one of our scarce family targets as opposed to the wealthy merchants and huge warehouses we usually steal from. (We didn't target Keon's family in the end though.)

"K-Kit may I ask you something?" His brown eyes are clear and his face is blushing.

I motion for him to go on.

He plays with his hands a little bit before continuing. "K-Kit, w-would you mind . . . I mean, d-do you want to be my ally?"

His face turns an even darker red than before. He looks down at his shoes and his blond halo of curls is what cuts me deep. Keon is just a kid.

_Digit was not wrong. Digit is hardly ever wrong about these things, _I try to tell myself. _Keon is using you._

But there is another memory that conjured forward from the back of my mind, one that I had not focused on even once until now.

It was back when we were struggling to find merchants and other of the sort to hack into their system and get past their security to take from right after Cordin's death, after Digit presented her case about Keon Watts deserving to have his family stolen from. Later that week, Boolean countered her for once in his life. Generally, he does not make any intelligent insights. If I'm being honest, we mostly keep him around for our entertainment. It was approximately two days after Digit had made her case. Boolean said that everyone in town to whom he has spoken about Keon (of course, I scorned him for doing such a dangerous thing as bringing up a person having to do with the Breaching Bugs with outsiders, but I did listen to what he said) insisted that he was a rather air-headed boy, but one with a kind heart.

Of course, then again, Boolean has been wrong, and I can hardly pinpoint a time in my mind when Digit's theory on a person (or how to break into somewhere once we've hacked their system for that matter) has been proven wrong. But Keon does seem so . . . so . . . so just like Boolean described . . . I think I actually believe Boolean over Digit on this matter which shocks me immensely.

I smile at Keon, being snapped back to the present. I feel sorry for the kid. He doesn't seem like he's trying to use me or anything. He just seems like a boy who needs an ally and feels most comfortable asking his district partner. He seems actually _honored_ to be in my presence. "Sure, Keon." My voice in almost never this soft. "I'd love to be allies with you."

He beams at me and I grin back.

I relax and lean against our chariot. My eyes flicker down at the computer codes our stylists tried to embed along the sides and I smirk. Apparently, they have taken the liberty of inventing their own, nonexistent codes for Keon and I.

He does not see me looking up. But when I do, something flickers in his expression of ecstasy, something fishy. Sinister even.

I finger my token; the metallic silver badge. It once belonged to Cordin, but now it is all mine. It identifies me as the leader of the Breaching Bugs. If I die it's going to be passed down to Glitch. He is my second-in-command after all. I smirk at the thought of everyone having to take orders from Glitch. It's sad really, me envisioning them having so many good times without me . . . they are all like my family. That's why I need to win this thing. I need to get back to them all and lead them once more. I cannot be my brother in this one aspect of life. He did not even make it past the Bloodbath last year . . .

I cannot shake the look on Keon's face that only lasted a half second out of my mind.

I clear my throat and rub my fingers along the silver edges. I am the leader of the Breaching Bugs. Years of decoding and hacking and thieving has taught me many many things. One of which is to never let my guard down.

I'll be watching you, Keon Watts.

* * *

**Kai Loran, District Two Male (18)**

* * *

Caecilia and I sit side by side atop the District Two chariot. She is scowling.

I know Caecilia from training; knew that she would be my district partner. I know her well in fact, like any good district partner should. Back in the Training Center we were all told time and time again that we need to be wary of our opponents, but even more so, our allies. I do not understand why it matters whether or not I know Caecilia's strengths and weaknesses though. It's considered a huge dishonor to kill your district partner anyway back home (being a Victor's son I am well aware of how things work in the Victor's Village, despite being avoided by almost all of the more recent Victors) so why would Caecilia ever try to hurt me?

"You stressed, Caecilia?"

"I'm fine!" She snaps. That means yes.

I can't exactly blame her for being upset. I might be too if the roles were reversed. She is the stone and I am the stone mason. Her pretty face is hardly recognizable from behind the silver polish coated onto her deeply tanned skin.

I loop my arm through hers like I did back at the reaping, this time skipping the part where I kiss her hand, because I feel like that would be pushing my luck a little bit too far.

She does not resist me, which causes me to grin, proud that I sort of got through to her in this tiny way.

District One's chariot takes off right in front of us.

A bed of precious jewels lies beneath the two of them. The two tributes are clothed all in white, blond hair fanning out behind the girl, Dream. Two wings sprout out majestically from each of their backs. Angels. They are angels. I don't know how their stylists did it, don't know how it is possible, but it is almost like they're floating; not even grazing the bed of jewels. Dream and the boy - Fibonacci or something I think - are angels residing in the luxurious heaven that is their everyday life back in District One.

They receive cheers. And more cheers. And more and more and more. The Capitol loves them. I don't get it. What's so great about Dream and Fibonacci or their costumes or chariot? Next it's our turn. One's chariot is about to make its final loop, ours only beginning its course.

Our initial cheer is rather disappointing, much less than what Dream and Fibonacci received.

I stand up. My arm is so tightly attached to Caecilia's that I drag her up with me. At first she remains quite still as I wave animatedly at the audience, beaming, blowing kisses at at groups of females in the crowd, causing them to swoon and their husbands and boyfriends to scowl.

"Lighten up, Caecilia," I tell her. "You only get one shot at a first impression after all."

"Please do not tell me what to do, Kai," she says, politely yet with an acidic undertone.

She knows I'm right though. She knows that you can never redo a first impression, and she knows that it means she must make every second count.

She extricates her arm from mine and turns around, refusing to look me in the eye. I swear I hear her mutter a thank you though, as we each continue to wave at the crowd.

"You're welcome, Caecilia m'lady," I mutter back to her. "I've got your back."

We take our final turn. The ride is coming to an end. The sound of applause we got never quite peaked as high as Dream's and Fibonacci's did, but we did do remarkably well in comparison to the beginning. Though, in my own personal opinion, these costumes are some of the worst in District Two's history. Most stylists focus on us being fighters; warriors, which showcases a much more desirable aspect to our district than just stone masons.

The ability to chop up rocks will not get you very far in the Hunger Games. Being a fighter though, that will.

* * *

**Catt Williams, District Nine Female (18)**

* * *

I stand with Forest, the boy from District Seven. His district partner is sitting in her chariot nearby. I hate to stare at her, but I can hardly help it. She seems to be . . . hugging the trees on their chariot or something; wrapping her arms around them affectionately.

Trying to ignore the girl, I focus all of my attention on Forest.

He eyes my obvious bicep muscles and raises an eyebrow at me. "You look pretty strong for a girl from Nine you know, Catt. How?"

I don't meet his eyes. He can't know. He can't know. I can't tell him.

"Oh you know . . . just all those years of . . . working with my dad in the fields," I lie.

"Is that so?" His voice is silky . . . alluring.

"Y-yes," I stammer, but I know that he does not believe me.

"Come on, Catt. You can tell me." He touches my elbow and looks me in the eye. "You can trust me."

I can trust him.

I motion for him to bend down to my level so that I can whisper into his ear. "Not here. Not now. Not when they're watching us."

He nods knowingly.

We stroll together as we talk, passing the chariots of Districts Seven and Eight and now coming up towards my own.

Forest smiles at me. "So I'm assuming you and your district partner are not allying?"

I scoff. "I've barely spoken two words to the kid."

I did not even know my district partner's name until he became just that. Sometimes back in Nine I would see him carrying bags of grain in the fields, sun beating down his neck, joking and laughing with all of the other workers. Aside from that I've never seen Cameron until we were reaped together, and it took me a while to place where I had seen him before when he was reaped. Father and I spend most of our time inside anyway. He's scared that if I don't spend enough of my time working on perfecting my abilities as best as we can, I'll go the same way as Kyle if I don't put enough work into it. Well, at least it's coming in handy. Of course, I'm no Career, but Father and I did the best we could and at least it was not for nothing.

Forest speaks. "Well, Birdy and I sure as hell are not allying up . . ."

"Are you implying that-"

His scream cuts me off.

We've now reached the final two chariots; the one from Seven is out of our view almost completely.

We are standing by the chariots of Districts Eleven and Twelve. The boy from Eleven is gipping the little girl from his district forcefully, trying to make her stand a certain way. The heads of the two tributes from Twelve are peaking out from above the fiery, blazing pillars around their chariot. They are coal. The fire surrounds them.

Forest crumples to the floor and rocks back and forth on his knees. "No! No!" People are staring now. "No! Save them! Please! I'm begging you! Save them! Save me! Save yourselves!" His voice is desperate, pleading. His teeth are chattering.

The pair from Twelve make to descend from their chariot and help Forest out, but I give them a look saying that I have it all under control.

Forest is heavier than I expected, but my muscles are thicker than most teenage girls'.

I heave Forest in his entirety up off of the cold floor and throw his arm around my neck. I place my own hand around his waist and half drag, half carry him the whole distance back to his own chariot.

I grit my teeth and groan, gasping and stretching my arms out when I lean him up against the District Seven chariot.

I had not even noticed until now through all of my sweating and heaving, but Forest is no longer screaming. He is no longer mumbling and the tears seem to have long since ceased to stream down his face.

Forest clambers into the chariot on his own.

"Um . . . melodramatic are we?"

He hardly even bats an eyelash. "I believe my chariot is leaving." He is not making eye contact with me, but his voice still has that sexy, alluring quality I noticed before.

His and Birdy's chariot takes off, just as I open my mouth to speak.

I'm pretty sure that the "Any alliance we were in the midst of forming is off!", which I call to him a second too late goes either unheard or simply ignored by its intended recipient.

* * *

**Martial Avalaine, District Eleven Male (16)**

* * *

"Did I say you could sit down?" I snap at Briony. I tried to arrange her in a standing position so that she wound up being about the same height as I am sitting down, but her sitting now now just ruins all of my careful rearranging!. "And smooth your skirt, Briony, for the last time!"

She puts her hands on her hips. "I don't understand why you think you get to tell me what to do," she huffs.

I don't respond to that. My eye twitches once, twice, three times as I smooth down the skirt of her costume myself, because she is being too stubborn and annoying to cooperate and just fix the damn thing. She's dressed as a pepper. I am a carrot. Rather lame costumes in my opinion. They should have consulted me before stuffing my body into this wretched bright orange vegetable suit.

Briony is smiling at the crowd, basking in the attention, trying to gain herself some sponsors. I try to mimic her, because I feel it would look disproportional if I did not, but my heart is just not in it. I am not feeling connected to these Capitol people in any way right now.

Our chariot comes to a stop and Briony jumps out quickly before I can say another word to her

I'm looking around. Suddenly, I cannot take it anymore. Nothing in this room is orderly or the way I wish it to be. There are people standing in clusters of twos and threes, or awkwardly alone, popping out randomly.

I can't take this. I clench my hands into fists and run. I don't know where or why. I just run.

My feet carry me straight to the elevator bank. Before climbing into one of the elevators, I slam myself into a corner, continuing to twitch.

"Are you all right?" It's a girls speaking to me.

Her hair is an array of soft brown locks, her eyes a stormy gray, looking me up and down intensely.

It's the girl from Twelve, I remember.

"Did I ask you to follow me?" I snap.

She ignores the hint in my words. "I'm Saffron," she says. "It looks like you needed a, uh, . . . a _friend_."

My voice is icy. "Too bad I don't have one."

The comment is meant to dismiss her and she knows this, I can tell. But she just laughs once and presses on.

"Did something happen? Do you need my help?"

"I don't need your anything," I retort. "You wanna know why? Because you and I are not friends. You and I do not know each other. And I do not plan on pursuing this relationship any further." Harsh words to a girl I don't even know, but I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone.

She just stands there for a moment. Then she purses her lips. "Well, all right then. I respect that."

Is she finally about to leave me alone?

No. Of course not.

"Going up?" Her mouth arranges itself into a smile.

I sigh. "Yeah, going up. And your face is dirty; it's bugging me."

The two of us clamber into the elevator and she beams, ignoring my comment on her dirty face.

She does not talk the whole way up, and I relax. I thought she would never leave me alone. The elevator stops on District Eleven's floor, and I am about to step out when she catches me by the arm.

"It's all right to talk to other people, you know," she says. "It doesn't have to be me, but I don't think this attitude of yours of not wanting a friend is wise at all."

When did I say that? I only said that I didn't want _her _for a friend.

"Thanks for the advice, Saffron," I say flatly.

I exit the elevator and the doors slip shut behind me.

I scoff. What a nuisance that was. Besides, what she is saying is not true in my case. I don't need friends. Maybe an alliance will be all right, depending on how obedient the ally is, but not a friendship. Saffron and all of the others better watch out. Because now that I'm in this thing, I'm in it to win it.

* * *

**Birdy Rhodes, District Seven Female (16)**

* * *

I wake to a stomach ache in the middle of the night. I know it was unwise stuffing my face with all of that greasy oniony food that my stomach cannot handle, but I couldn't help myself; most things Mother and Father permit me to eat have virtually no flavor, or not a good one. Dinner tonight here in the Capitol made my taste-buds ting with enjoyment. Now I'm suffering for it though.

I rush to the bathroom and hang my face over the toilet to retch. I take deep, calming breaths and try to relax myself. But this is not what is going to relax me and I know it. I need to connect with the outdoors somehow.

The odor of vomit still sharp in my nose, I inhale abruptly and open up the bathroom window, not even bothering to find a different window to the outdoors in a room not reeking of puke.

Everything suddenly becomes clearer, more beautiful.

The breezy night air invades my lungs, filling them up with everything that is good and pure. I feel my lips tugging into a smile which stretches into a bright beam. It's been a while since I've experienced this. I never take nature for granted, that's for sure, but when I have not poked my head out in a while and I do . . . it's even better than usual, and that's saying something.

Though the sky is blackened, I am able to make out the outlines of a few glorious trees swaying in the wind.

Forest sleeps soundly, his faint snores reverberating from his room. Palmette, Redwood, and Thinera are asleep in their own quarters a little ways off.

I am the only one awake. For now, it can just be about me and all of the beauty that this planet was blessed with. I take in the scent of flowers blooming, the sounds of crickets chirping in the night.

I'll be back tomorrow night, that's for sure. I have to be strong and get through tomorrow cooped up in the Training Center, and then tonight I take in all of these natural wonders again tomorrow. Looking out this window, it's . . . it's not my woods, that's for sure, nowhere near as beautiful and wonderful as they are, but . . . but it's still nature. It's pure, natural beauty. It's the feel of the wind blowing my through my hair and the smell of freshly mown grass. The sounds of birds chirping and the sight or an array of different colored leaves in the fall or flowers in the spring.

I try to prolong my time with my head sticking out to the great outdoors, thinking about the next few weeks. Usually, the arenas are outdoors in some way shape or form which is good for me.

Then again, when it comes down to it, that might be bad for me: if I had to would I be able to completely destroy a work of nature to save my own life or someone else's? I don't know. I think not. Then again, that situation does not seem very likely . . .

I can feel a yawn coming on and try to stifle it. I'm used to sleeping during the day, not at night, but today I was up all day and it is intended for me to sleep at night like everyone else . . . it's a curious thing for me to crawl into bed when it's light out, rather than to be spending time in my woods, gazing at the blackened night sky.

I leave the window open, even though the breeze might make me a tad chilly, and climb into bed, curling up into a ball.

I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

I dream that I am back in my woods. It's a lovely dream.

Then I wake to the sunlight and cannot help the tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. It is a dream that will never come true unless I win the Hunger Games, a nearly impossible feat. Is being able to visit my beautiful darling woods just one more night too much to ask?

At least there is that light at the end of the tunnel. If I win these Games, I get to go home. I can see Junie and even my parents again. I miss Junie so much, despite only having just left her. My parents too; I knew my heart would ache with the lack of Junie's presence, but I did not expect to miss my parents as much as I do.

And if I go home, I can see, I can _feel_ my woods again.

All I have to do is win, and then I can go back to my woods. My home.

Easier said than done.

* * *

**Solris Reen, District Eight Male (15)**

* * *

"Eat up guys," Tulle advises at breakfast. "You have a busy day ahead of you, and you both want to keep your strength and energy up. Trust me, Bonnie and I are here for no purpose other than to help you guys out."

Terra snorts and mutters, "Solris is going to need all the help he can get . . ."

Is she calling me a coward? I don't know, but I better make sure this is not the case. "I am not going to need any help, and I personally like to face my problems myself, so don't try to help me," that part is directed at Tulle, the rest at Terra. "A coward dies a thousand times a hero dies but once," I quote wisely to her.

She smirks. "And what number life are you on now?"

I want to retort, but the words are lost on my tongue. I have nothing to say, frozen in place.

Terra does not ask to be dismissed or excuse herself, she simply stands up and recedes into her bedroom.

"So I guess this means we have two tributes this year who don't want our help, eh Bonnie?"

Tulle sounds amused.

Bonnie, on the other hand, is dead serious. "Kid, You may think you can do this all on your own, but let me tell you something. When you're in an arena about to die of hunger or thirst or are being held at sword-point by some bloodthirsty Career, you will appreciate that Tulle and I are doing all that we can to get you your sponsors and give you some good advice on what to do in training and Games and all of it. Because, in case you haven't noticed, we both went through it all as well."

Bonnie grabs Tulle by the arm and mutters something to her about leaving me alone to think.

I'm about to relax, (finally, solitude!) when Bonnie turns back around to look me in the eye fixes me with her hardened gaze.

"Remember kid, there are mentors in the Hunger Games for a reason. There are other people on this planet for a reason."

Tulle looks impressed at Bonnie's profound statement. Maybe by Tulle's standards it was profound, but nothing Bonnie has said to me has impressed me so far.

A man is known by the company he keeps. So I better keep away from Tulle, Bonnie, and Terra. None of them is how I want to be known . . .

Bonnie was right about one thing though. Well, nothing she said, but some things she implied. I have to be careful in these Games. Not too careful that people perceive me as cowardly, (that was a close-call with Terra) but sensible for sure. I cannot make any wrong moves or any wrong decisions.

The first day of training is about to begin.

Terra and I ride the elevator in silence, cramming ourselves against opposite walls, so as to be as far away from each other as humanly possible in the cramped elevator space.

Once in the Training Center, I do not expect Terra to speak to me again, but she does. Eight words: "Good luck, Solris. I hope you do well."

And then our attention is turned to the Head Trainer.

* * *

**Connor Poe, District Four Male (18)**

* * *

Briella Manks is the name of the Head Trainer. She's a tall woman, almost my height

She gives us the whole rundown of what is going to be happening in the Training Center over the next few days and all I'm thinking throughout her entire drawling, never-ending speech is blah blah blah.

Briella's blond hair is streaked with hot pink. For a moment I envision her entire body dyed that color and laugh out loud. People turn to stare at me, but I just wave proudly. Even my laugh must sound like a true rapper's. The odd thing is that for a Capitol woman, Briella's appearance is pretty normal, and here I am mocking it.

"Got something to add?" she says brusquely.

"Yo, that's real nice of you to offer," I reply. "As a matter of fact I-"

"It was a rhetorical question!" she snaps, cutting me off.

I put up my hands in surrender. "No need to get sassy with me, Bri-Bri. Yo, I was only answering the question here that you posed."

She growls at me before continuing on with her speech. For some reason, she refuses to meet my eye the entire time . . . I wonder why. Did I offend her?

Briella dismisses us to do as we please, her last advice being to use our limited time wisely. Is it just my imagination, or do her magenta colored irises (are those natural?) flit over to my blue ones . . .

Without another glance, Briella departs and the crowd of tributes disperses, leaving the other five Careers and I to move towards a corner by the sword station.

Dream, the District One Female, is the first to speak. "So, first thing's first. You," she points to Sierra. "Reaped. What's your deal?"

Sierra folds her arms across her chest. "What do you mean, what's my deal? I was reaped _accidentally_; I bet I could ruin that pretty little face of yours with one slash of a knife. Who cares how I ended up here. Here I am. I would have Volunteered next year anyway, I just thought I'd take advantage of this year's opportunity, in case I missed out next year. By the way, just for when I follow through with my plan to run her through with a knife, anyone prepared to wipe up Dreamy's blood?"

The boy from One, Fibbi, says something intensely, but it only comes out sounding like "gdaks stip 't."

Dream gawks at him, and he bops her on the head with the staff he seems to enjoy carrying around for exactly this purpose. I don't know what is up with this Fibbi kid, but I feel like I better interject in the argument blazing between Sierra and Dream. Better not to have two beautiful ladies going at each other right now.

"Yo, girls, no need to get feisty. Now Dream," I stroke her cheek with my thumb and she immediately jumps back. "Let me tell you something; Sierra here, she can do anything that you and I can and more." I put an arm around Sierra who beams at me appreciatively and leans her head on my shoulder.

Sierra smirks at Dream and hisses in a whisper. "Don't forget what I said . . . what was it? Something about ruining these gorgeous features you've got, dear . . ."

Dream hastily puts a hand up to her face, as if to make sure it's still in one piece and Sierra laughs loudly.

Do I have to intervene again?

I put a hand on each shoulder. "Yo, ladies, no need to quarrel like this. Hey, yo, should I make up a rap on the spot for you guys?" I wink at each of them in turn. "Sierra of course, coming from my own home district where everyone knows of my talent, and Dream perhaps you have heard of me even from all the way out in One. If not, and this is your first time hearing a Connor rap, you are in for a real treat. Sierra will tell you."

The blank expression on Sierra's face is one of utter disbelief. Confusion. She does not even get the concept of me asking her to explain something civilly to Dream. Wow, these two are going to need some work.

I clear my throat.

"Yo,

"Hello,

"It's Connor hear again today,

"I'm here today and here to stay.

"Yo,

"Yo,

"It's Connor sayin' hello.

"Don't fight my gorgeous ba-bies,

"Or you'll look like fish with ra-bies."

The last line of the rap falls short of Sierra's expectations, but hey, that's what happens when you think up brilliant raps every day; the ones formulated in just a few seconds might not quite meet the standards.

Dream, however. She is speechless. Her face is a pale white, her mouth cocked open and she keeps running her fingers along her face, her eyes glued to Sierra, though that probably has more to do with the threat Sierra made to her, but I'm sure the sheer awesomeness of my rap contributed to her shock largely as well. Although, I'm not entirely sure that fish can get rabies . . . oh well, even if they don't the rest of the rap made up for it for sure judging by Dream's expression.

I grin, satisfied.

Kai from District Two interrupts us. I had almost forgotten about him and his district partner, Caecilia. The two of them have been exchanging small talk and chatter quietly whilst the rest of us interacted.

"I say we move on from this." His eyes travel disapprovingly to Dream and Sierra and he loops his arm proudly through Caecilia's, as if bragging to Fibbi and myself about having the most civilized, well-mannered of the three girls for his district partner. "We might as well get started on training for today. Dream, Sierra, please. Try to work it out, or stay away from each other, or . . . whatever else you need to do."

Sierra nods right away. "Of course, Kai. I think it would be most prudent to use our time here in the Training Center to learn more about fighting, not fight with each other."

Kai smiles at her and nods his approval.

Dream, however, has other ideas. "And who put you in charge?"

Caecilia speaks up. "Well-"

Dream cuts her off, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing over her shoulder a few times as she speaks. "How do I know to trust you? How do I know you will not betray me?" She sounds genuinely nervous.

"Well," Caecilia's patience is on the verge of snapping. "Kai and I are the only two who are totally neutral and not biased in any negative or positive way to any of us."

Fibbi emits a noise. "F't I do't." He waves his hands in the air and points eagerly at himself.

Sierra smiles sadly at him. "Sorry, Fibbi. It would be hard to listen to you when none of us can . . . you know . . ."

Fibbi hangs his head and Sierra touches his shoulder gently. Any trace of ice her words held when speaking with Dream has vanished.

"Yo, dudes!" I have an idea. "How bout me, yo, bros, sistahs? You feelin' me?"

Caecilia winces.

"No think about it, yo!" I'm getting really excited about it now. "You say that the reason Kai is in charge is that he's not biased for or against anyone, but if you think about it the two of you seem pretty close, and seem like you favor each other. Now, Sierra's my home girl so of course she holds a special place in my heart," I blow Sierra a kiss and she blushes. "But I love all five of you, and am not against anyone here in any way. Come on guys. Sierra, tell them how much fun I'm going to make it."

Sierra shrugs. "Lots of fun, I guess."

* * *

**Dream Swiller, District One Female (17)**

* * *

That settles it. No one really wants to think of Connor the idiot thapper (I believe that is what he called it) as our Career leader, except Sierra and I - the one thing we agree on - but the others reluctantly nod, because they do not have counterarguments for his logic. I smirk, and to think I was beginning to think Kai was smart? He cannot even counter Connor's logic which has many loopholes! Not that I'm complaining, as I would much prefer Connor over Kai or Caecilia if it cannot be me.

Obviously, Connor is not a Career leader type in the slightest. Sure, he looks the part being big and brawny, but just from one conversation and hearing one of those poem things of his - what was it called again, a drap . . . a shrap . . .? - I can tell that he is barely Career material, let alone Career _leader_ material. But out of the other Careers, he is the one I trust most, which is why I agree readily. They do not like me, so they will not allow me to be the leader, but I can see any of the others stabbing me in the back far more easily than Connor. Connor seems too . . . too innocent to do such a thing.

Of course I'll have to watch myself constantly nonetheless. The leader position is more of a title than anything, and any of the other Careers can just as easily slit my throat in my sleep as a leader can, and then there's Connor himself . . . I do not trust him in reality, of course, just more than the others.

"Uhh . . . yo, so, now we train!" Connor sounds so unsure of himself that I can hardly stifle the laugh building in my throat.

"Connor, you have no idea what you're doing," I comment. Then, looking ahead and seeing that this could possibly be taken to mean that I would prefer one of the tributes from Two, I add. "W-well, you seem to be catching on already; I'm sure we will all do great with you as leader."

No one answers me, I bet they caught anything unusual in my voice. Please no, please no.

Caecilia and Kai lead the way. They say that we are all going to check out the spears first. It seems that the two of them are taking charge, even if Connor is officially our "leader." Connor, on the other hand, does nothing but show off his abilities to rap (he just reminded me of what it is called) and flirt with Sierra and I. This is good though. He is not focused on training. That's one out of five allies that I can trust a smidge, though, of course, other people can always betray me.

We stop by the spears and Caecilia reaches for one. I prefer a flail, but if our whole pack is staying here I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to further perfect my skills. Of course, I've been training all my life. Harder than all of the others, that's for sure. I want to win, but I also understand that I can be killed at any point if I'm not careful, even by one of my own allies. I can trust no one fully, which means that I must rely on my own skills. Which means that my skills must be ample. More so than anyone else's

I reach for the second spear the trainer offers me, the first one having been the one he gave Caecilia. I take it, and glance over my shoulder for a second, making sure that no one is sneaking up behind me to ruin my shot or do something more sinister. As my head tilts around, however, my eyes rest on another station across the room.

The little girl from District Eleven is listening intently as a trainer instructs her step by step on how to start a fire both with and without matches. He demonstrates and the flames blaze brightly, dancing in my eyes.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Flooding into my mind are the thoughts of how I at least have someone who I can trust. Connor isn't so bad. I'll do fine in the arena. I'm okay. Secure. Relaxed.

Without another word, I drop the spear, calm as anything. I walk towards it, towards the little girl and the trainer.

"Hello," I say to him, a kinder tone than my usual.

"Well, hello there, dear," the man replies. "Would you like to join Briony here in learning to create a fire?"

I smile at him and nod.

"We're starting off small; how to start it with a match. Briony's about to move on to some more difficult scenarios though."

"Thank you," I say.

I strike the match.

Flames. They bob up and down. The rope obstacle course is only a little ways away. There are trees in one part of the room. I want to do it. I hold the match in my hand and try to gulp down the urge, but it would just be so . . . so _fascinating _to see this room erupt into flames.

My palms are sweating. My body is sending me signs of nerves, yet my mind is cool and calm. Nothing seems to be able to go wrong at this moment. The trainer is focused on Briony. I glance at the fire on my match and it calms me down, but only momentarily. The trainer is distracted; it's now or never.

I wish I could choose never. Because if I choose now, it's going to come back to bite me.

I transfer the flame from the match (now nearly having shrunk down to my chewed fingernails) to a wooden stick. The trainer is oblivious as I silently slip over to the ropes course. No one is watching at me.

I throw the stick as far as my arm can manage and fire catches straight on the rope of the ropes course, spreading throughout.

I run. I run away and return to the others by the spears.

Sierra glares at me when I return. "Where were you?"

She knows. She must know. She can see the fire pervading throughout the huge ropes course, almost ready to catch on to something else, to make its way towards some unsuspecting human being. I'm sweating, nerves threatening to take over. I shouldn't've done it.

"What do you mean?" I say outwardly

She does not get to answer.

A shriek comes next. Loud and clear.

Briella the Head Trainer's voice penetrates all ears in the Training Center a second later.

"Emergency evacuation. All tributes and trainers are ordered to leave the Training Center this minute. Emergency evacuation!"

By now people have seen the fire. Is it just me or are people turning to look at me? Kai scoops Caecilia up in his arms and runs with her, beckoning the rest of us to follow. Caecilia scowls at him, but protests in no more ways than that.

Connor looks at Sierra like he wants to do the same, but she just grabs his hand and runs. Fibbi is already gone, having run out with Kai and Caecilia.

I'm about to follow them at a sprint, when I catch sight of the fire once more. It holds my attention. I cannot tear my eyes away from the rapidly spreading reds and oranges. But there's nothing wrong. I feel calm, relaxed. I don't want to move out of this spot anytime soon. That's what my emotions are saying.

But the small part of my brain reminds me to move wins out thankfully.

It takes will power, but I manage to tear my gaze away and run into the hall, desperately searching for Connor, Fibbi, and the others. Even Sierra would be a relief to find.

As I push my way through the crowd of other tributes to reach the Careers, it occurs to me that I was the very last one to leave the Training Center. I was in that room all alone for . . . who knows how long?

I cough once. I had not realized the breath, intruded upon by smoke, was being held in until I let it out and begin breathing steadily once more.

* * *

**Alistair Penn, District Ten Male (13)**

* * *

No one seems to want to ally up with me. But I'm not discouraged. This whole ordeal with us being thrown out of the Training Center hardly even fazed me. I'm not really in a training sort of mood today, so I've just been trying hard to find someone to ally with me. I've already been rejected three times, though now that I think about it, I'm not even sure who I asked, so it must not have been too personal or intriguing an invitation.

I decide that maybe the older tributes just don't want to have to deal with a young kid. I could approach my district partner, Lainey, but when I spot the District Eleven girl and waltz right up to her without giving Lainey another thought. I just don't have the patience to think these kinds of things through.

"Hey, you looking for an ally?"

I grin wildly at her and extend my hand for her to shake which she does not, nor does she return my smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm not interested in an alliance with you." She takes a step back from me. Now I'm feeling kind of bad about myself. Not even the only other thirteen-year-old wants to be with me? What's wrong with me?

I sigh. "Okay, I-"

My voice is cut off my that of an older girl speaking to Briony. "There you are." She breathes a sigh of relief. "I've been looking everywhere for you." She smiles at her. This girl is older than both me and Briony, that I can tell for sure from her mature features, yet she is almost half a head shorter than me, and only about an inch taller than Briony.

"Oh, who's your friend?" Her bright blue eyes are filled with pure kindness and warmth.

Briony is sinking closer and closer to this girl, who I believe is the one from District Six.

"He's not my friend," Briony mutters in response with a blush.

"Well, would you like him to be?" the girl from Six laughs.

She smiles up at me. "I'm Kerr Dolce from District Six."

"Alistair Penn," I say proudly.

"Would you like to join Briony and I? We were thinking about sticking together for now and allying up in the arena." Her voice is sweet, down-to-earth. "Is that what you were asking Briony about?"

I nod slowly, looking into her big blue eyes. How did she know what Briony and I were talking about?

"I'm so glad to have you join us, Alistair. Briony is too, right Briony?"

Briony squirms and stands behind Kerr, not responding.

"Aw, don't be shy. You're not shy around me, are you Bri?"

She shakes her head, color rushing into her pale cheeks.

"Well, I expect you and Alistair-"

"You can call me Ally," I interrupt. I don't realize that it was rude until Briony glares at me. I clamp my hand over my mouth.

Kerr, however, grins. "You and _Ally _are going to be the best of friends."

I hope Kerr is right. I miss Xander and Alane and Anna and Candor back home so much. I could really use another kid my age here to be my friend.

Kerr wraps an arm around each of us and squeezes us tight. "Were you scared, Ally? Briony was a little scared when she first saw the fire and heard the evacuation being announced. That's actually how we wound up together, as a matter of fact, so it must have been a blessing in disguise!" She laughs cheerfully. "I was not really looking to make any alliance of my own unless approached by someone else, but Briony here was just looking so lost all alone - she was by the fire making station when it all went down, mind you - and I was scared for her too, so I grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out together."

By now Kerr and Briony are both heaving with laughter, but I do not see anything funny about the given situation.

Briony looks at the floor when she continues the story, her laughter ceasing at once. "And then I said to Kerr, 'do you want an ally', because she seemed like one of the only nice people here," her cheeks are reddening once more. This girl blushes a lot in my presence. "And then you came up to me and now here we are. Well, I skipped the part about how Kerr said yes and I hope it's not just because she feels bad for me, because there really are things that I can do and . . ."

Briony trails off and Kerr teases her. "Nice story telling skills you've got, Bri." They laugh and smile at each other. I feel like I'm missing out on something. Kerr was so nice as to include me in this alliance, but am I the odd man out? And if Kerr and Briony just met then why are they acting like the best of friends already.

Girls are weird, that's the only conclusion I can draw . . . being friends with Anna has taught me that and now Kerr and Briony are just further proving my point.

* * *

**Kerr Dolce, District Six Female (18)**

* * *

"At this time, all tributes are asked to reenter the Training Center, all tributes are to reenter the Training Center."

Briella's voice shocks me back to reality. Briony, Ally, and I sit in silence on the cold floor, my petite legs crossed one over the other.

Honestly, until Briony asked I was not planning on an alliance, especially with such young tributes. I'm not delusional. I know they are going to drag me down. But then there is that part of me that says taking the two of them under my wing is making up for killing the child. I did not realize what a big deal the abortion was until I realized that being reaped could have been my punishment for just that, and now helping out these helpless little children is going to make things even, maybe even tip the scale in my direction in terms of what I deserve.

"Come," I say softly, taking one of each of their little hands in my own and helping them up. "The three of us have a lot of work to do if we want to get far in the arena."

Ally is excited to have joined Briony. We made him feel wanted and I'm glad to have made him feel special like this. Briony inches closer and closer to me, melting away from our third ally. She's shy from him, but for some reason, she feels completely comfortable laughing and joking around with me like we've known each other for ages. She's interesting like that.

When we reenter the Training Center it is good as new, as if nothing happened. All of the trainers are waiting eagerly (or restlessly in some cases) for us tributes to join them so that they can instruct us on how to fight.

I don't know all of the details of how the fire was started and everything, but I suppose it must have been an accident. They've done a nice job putting it out and cleaning everything up though.

The minute Ally's eyes rest on the Knife-Throwing station all the way on the other side of the Training Center he runs off straight towards it at top speed. That's where the Careers are all congregated.

"Wait, Ally, don't . . ."

I trail off; he's not listening to me.

Briony takes off after him and I follow behind the two. By the time I reach them I am out of breath and have to clutch a painful stitch in my side. These kids are _fast._

"Alistair, we were all supposed to decide _together _what to do!" Briony scolds.

"It's all right, Briony," I say, "he did not mean us any harm. But Ally, it's not the best idea from now on to march straight into wherever all of the Careers are and start messing with weapons around them. I don't think being marked as a threat or a target by the Careers is a good thing for any of us."

"I'm sorry." He looks down, ashamed.

"That's okay, Ally. You did nothing wrong." I lift up his chin. "Hey, where's that smile I saw a moment ago? That's the one! By the way, Ally, do you even know how to throw knives?"

His shoulders come up and he shakes his head. "N-no. I don't. I just . . ."

"Just what?" says Briony.

"Briony, it does not matter," I tell her.

Ally ignores us both. "I thought it would be fun."

I laugh and clap him on the back. "That's good you know. Never stop doing the things that you enjoy unless . . ."

"Unless they'll get you hurt or killed or worse?" Briony finishes for me.

Ally and I speak at the same time. He says. "What can be worse?" while I say, "or something that will get a friend hurt or killed or worse," adding on to Briony's statement.

"Do any of us even know how to use a weapon?" Briony says, changing the subject, leaving both of us unanswered. "I did not get much practice in with anything other than some basic survival skills."

"Same," I mutter.

Ally however, says. "I can use a mallet. I saw one earlier to day at one of the stations, so I tried it out and . . . and the trainer said that I'm not bad for a kid my age."

"That's great!" I breathe a sigh of relief. "I'm proud of you, Ally!"

Briony blushes and puts her face in her hands.

My heart goes out to her. "Aw, honey, I'm sure you can do plenty of things too. This alliance is going to do great. I can already tell. The three of us all bring a lot to the table."

I cannot already tell, as a matter of fact if I had to guess I'd say that none of us will make it far at all (I try to be optimistic, but I'm not an idiot), but saying it makes them both beam, clearly pleased with themselves and I smile to myself as well. Does sticking with these kids make up for g-g-getting r-rid of my own? I can hardly think the thought without my eyes tearing up, remembering all that Thomas did to me, leaving me with no option but to _kill _a child - albeit unborn - in cold blood. Not just any child, _my _child.

The answer is truthfully that it does not make up for it just yet. But who knows, maybe if - gulp - if I'm not able to return home, then Ally or Briony will, and then in death I can rest easy knowing that I saved a child's life. And if I myself return home, then I can hug Edgar with all my might and surely he'll comfort me when I'm missing Ally and Briony.

So basically, it's a win-win.

No. It's not. It only will be if one of my allies or myself is victorious. But there are twenty-one other tributes in the arena and any one of us can be the Victor in the end. It's really a win-win-win-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-los e-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-lose-los e-lose-lose-lose.

Those are not very good odds.

The odds are not in my favor.

Then again, according to the odds, I should not have gotten pregnant. According to the odds, my father should have been like most, and so should my boyfriend.

Maybe defying the odds is a thing of mine.

* * *

**Break by Three Days Grace**

* * *

**Link to the blog for this story (just remove the spaces): heights101hg. blogspot. com**

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**I would really appreciate it if you guys answered some of the questions I have for you at the end of each chapter xD**

**_Out of the 12 POV's you saw here, which stood out to you and why?_**

**_Any thoughts/opinions on the alliances we have so far?_**

**_And, of course, How was my writing in this chapter?_**

* * *

**The district partners of these 12 tributes will each have a POV in the next chapter, so if your tribute was not featured here, they will be in the next chapter :D The next chapter will include the rest of training :D**

**I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I don't think it was my best work and yes, late, I know, I know, don't kill me! There were a bunch of things that held me up including my birthday on Monday (yay!), finals and stuff (not yay) and accidentally deleting this document and having to restart the chapter (I know, I'm an idiot.)**

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**A few words about this chapter :D **

**So, you're probably really confused about some people's backgrounds and stuff, especially people like Kit, James, and a few others, but don't worry, the background will be fleshed out throughout the story! xD**

**Now I need to talk about the Careers: So, as you can see, Connor is the official "leader", but Kai and Caecilia are the ones who are really taking charge. And about Dream . . . so, I don't really know much about pyromania, so I had to do some research before writing her POV and I still have no clue if I portrayed it correctly :/ Please bare in mind however that I had to incorporate Dream's personality into it, so it might be a little different than other cases.**

**So far our official alliances are Kit/Keon, the Careers, and Kerr/Alistair/Briony. The rest of the alliances will be sorted out next chapter, so don't worry if your tribute does not yet have one :D I'll be adding the alliances so far to the blog :D**

**Sorry again for the wait between updates! I hope it was worth the wait, but I'm just not sure . . .**

**Oh! And, just in case you guys were getting the wrong message, I'm not trying to be one of those evil, "review or I'll kill your tribute" authors. There are many other factors taken into account, and I really do cherish and appreciate every review I get, I just don't think it's fair if I'm wavering between two tributes to keep in, to kill off one who's creator is reviewing if the other is not or something like that.**

**Long author's note. I know. Sorry xD**


	5. Lean On Me

**Lean On Me**

_For it won't be long till 'm gonna need_

_Somebody to lean on_

* * *

**Terra Beasley, District Eight Female (16)**

* * *

Solris mutters something about a red sky as he gingerly slips himself into the seat between myself and Bonnie at the breakfast table, the only seat open.

Solris is always saying weird things like that. Some sort of ancient phrases he somehow knows.

I snort. "Glad somebody finally decided to show up."

Solris says nothing. Tulle, however, gives me a warning glance. "Don't, Terra. Maybe the two of you should just separate from each other for the time being."

I narrow my eyes at her. "No, actually, I don't know about Solris, but personally I think I have enough self-control to sit through a meal with him without saying a word."

"Good," Tulle commends lightly. "Then give it a try."

I chew the pastry I was given for dessert (before Solris even bothered to show up, of course) loudly, just to irk him.

"What?" says Solris. "It's . . . it's not like I was _afraid _to come down and face the second day of training or anything." He laughs nervously.

I don't respond to him. I turn around and face the wall, taking a long sip of the orange juice in front of me.

Tulle tries once more to break the tension between the two of us. She clears her throat. "So. Have either of you been forming alliances?"

"I can see that you're not with each other," Bonnie puts in. "But Victors are more common amongst the tributes who branch out and form alliances." She is holding Solris' eyes, and the expression on her face causes me to believe that the two of them already had this conversation. "You two both need someone."

I growl. If she is addressing both of us, why is she only looking at him? No, not looking, _glaring _at him with passion.

Solris shakes a bit under Bonnie's cool stare, and wipes his forehead. "Y-Y-You're not my m-mentor, B-Bonnie, I m-mean Silk. Yeah. You're not m-my m-m-mentor. Tulle is."

"Fine," Bonnie sighs, but her gaze only hardens. "I guess if you don't want to hear it then I don't have any more advice for you, Solris. I just hope for your sake that you listen to Tulle a little better than you listened to me."

I don't see why either of them are even wasting their energy on him. I stopped wasting my energy on people who won't care for me a long time ago. In my opinion, friends like my friend Robert are just so much easier. People won't listen to me. Robert is a squirrel though, not a human. I give him nuts and he listens to me when I vent my problems to him without interrupting with rude and annoying comments like the majority of the human population cannot seem to refrain from doing.

Whilst Robert is nothing but a lovely friend, Solris is a coward. That much I know from just being in his district, just like he probably knows that I have no real friends. Or maybe he doesn't. He does not seem like the most perceptive to me, but I don't really know the kid so I can't judge for sure.

I stand up abruptly, not enjoying the presence of a single one of my companions at this table. Bonnie and Tulle might both have won by allying themselves up, but I am perfectly content with myself. I'll show them. I'll win these Games and show them that I don't need anyone to help me win. I've got it covered all on my own.

* * *

**Briony Creeks, District Eleven Female (13)**

* * *

Kerr stops dead in her tracks and grabs Alistair's shoulder. The three of us have been walking through the Training Center, trying to get to know one another a little better, because none of us come from the same district.

"Ally, it's horrible!" she exclaims out of nowhere.

"Huh?" Alistair cocks his head to the side. "What's horrible?"

Kerr sighs. "Our alliance is incomplete!"

"What do you mean?"

"Your district partner, Lainey! She's the youngest tribute in this whole competition and I have allied with both of you two, but not her. It's just awful! We have to find her immediately, Ally. Do you know where she might be?"

Ally shrugs and then blushes. "I'm not very good at keeping track of people."

Kerr smiles. "That's all right, honey. We'll find her. It's okay with the two of you to add one more to our alliance, isn't it?"

Alistair shrugs once more and nods. I do the same, just to mimic his motion, because I do not want to say no to Kerr when she so kindly welcomed me into her alliance, but truthfully, I'd rather not have Alistair's district partner join us.

The less people in our alliance, the less people I have to be wary of. Not Kerr, I trust Kerr and I would do whatever she asks me to, but Alistair . . . I don't know, I have mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, I just can't bring myself to accept the fact that I'll have to trust him with my life. He does not seem like he'll deliberately want to hurt me, but i don't think he's the most reliable person in the world. On the other hand, he was the friendly and kind one who originally approached me to join Kerr and I and is a nice kid just like me. Not to mention cute . . .

But if this Lainey girl was added to the mix, I just don't know if I'd be able to handle only half trusting one of my allies (Alistair) and possibly not trusting another of my allies (Lainey) at all.

"Great then," Kerr interrupts my train of thought. "We'll have to go find her. Then you wanted to show us how well you can climb, isn't that right, Briony?" She beams at me and I look down at my shoes. When I told her that this morning it was meant for her ears only, not Alistair's, but I did not think to tell her that. I don't want Alistair to think I'm bragging or something . . .

We spot tiny little Lainey Bristol in a second. She is standing at the edible plants identification station and chatting the trainer up. He, however, seems to be trying to get rid of her, but Lainey just keeps on talking, oblivious to the signals he is sending her.

"Hi, Lainey," says Alistair, breaking into her conversation with the trainer, who looks rather relieved. Clearly he is not a very accepting person. "This is Kerr and Briony, my allies, remember I told you about them . . ."

"Oh yes! Hello there!" She smiles one last time at the trainer who looks relieved to be rid of her, as the four of us slowly move away. "I'm Lainey, nice to meet you. You must be Briony! And oh! Are you Kerr? Ally said you were really nice."

Kerr smiles at the two of them. "Thank you, Ally."

"I like nice people," Lainey continues with a grin on her face.

"Me too," says Kerr. "I guess we'll get along well."

Lainey's nose sticks out a bit, but other than that her features are rather small, just like me. Her hair is long and blond and her eyes are a nice blue-gray color.

"You know who else is nice?" says Lainey. "My mentor, Evee. She answered most of my questions, but I think she must have been joking about some of the things she said. She said some really horrid things, isn't that right Ally?"

I notice that I am the only one who calls Alistair by his full name and blush.

Kerr smiles warmly at the newest addition to out group. "Lainey," she says gently. "Would you like to join the three of us and be in our alliance."

"R-Really? I- Really, you want me? I would love to join you guys!" She smooths down her blond hair. "Nice to meet you," she says to me. "I don't really know what this whole 'alliance' business is all about, but I've always wanted a friend! Are we going to be friends?" She looks at each of our faces, her eyes resting on my own last.

"I, uh, yeah I guess." I smile at her. I suppose I was wrong. I actually like Lainey. I don't think she's someone I need to look out for. Well, she is definitely a little girl who needs to be looked after, but not someone from whom I will ever need to watch my back.

"I can't wait. I'm so glad you guys found me, because it seemed like no one else wanted to be my friend." She looks down. "Thank you," she says softly.

"Hey, no problem, Lainey," says Kerr. "We're a team and now you are part of it."

"You really mean that?" Her face lights up.

"Of course."

Lainey does a little spin and Alistair catches her as she stumbles before she can fall.

"We were actually going to watch me climb up a rope . . ." I trail off. "Sorry, I mean, what do you want to do?"

"You can climb? That's so cool, Briony!" She beams at me and I smile back widely. "Yes, let's watch you!"

"Thanks," I say quietly.

"Hey, Kerr, Ally, Briony. I still have some questions, you know, stuff Evee was joking about but I want to know the real truth. D-Do you think you can answer them?" She looks up hopefully, I can tell that her mind is just bursting with questions longing to be answered.

I wonder what types of things her mentor told her about that she could have been joking about. It would be awfully mean of Evee to mess with Lainey's mind.

"Of course," I surprise myself that I am the first one to speak. Generally, I am the last one if I wind up talking at all. Without my consent, my eyes flit over to Alistair for a split-second and he gives me a tiny smile.

"Well," Lainey begins. "Evee said that . . . that . . ." she looks as though she wants to cry. Her shoulders are shaking and I think her eyes are even beginning to well up with tears. "She was really nice about it, but she said that in the Hunger Games Show . . .people . . . real people . . . us . . . that they - we - that we are going to . . . die."

Does she really not know what the Hunger Games is? Poor girl. But how could she possibly have avoided it her entire life.

"She was joking wasn't she?" her voice is a bit hoarse and a tear slides down her cheek. "Right guys, Evee was just making a joke, even though it wasn't really so funny, but it's okay though, because she's still my friend, and no one back home was ever my friend besides my brother, of course, so that means that Evee was my very first."

Kerr's blue eyes hold a million emotions. "Oh dear, Lainey. Do you . . . Is . . . Oh Lainey, Evee was not joking about the Hunger Games." Her voice drops to a whisper. "That's really what . . .That's what happens."

Now Lainey really does burst into tears. "B-But I thought I was just g-going to g-get hungry and then- and then I would g-get food, but . . . oh no! D-D-Does that m-mean that all of you g-g-guys are g-g-going t-to . . ." She throws her arms around each of us in turn.

Does she know _how_ all of us are most likely going to die? Does Lainey even realize why there are so many weapons in this room; that it's to teach us to fight so that we can all kill each other? I doubt it. I don't think her mentor would have the heart to tell her that at the very same time she informed her that her death sentence had already been signed. But I just don't understand how she could possibly have never been told of the horrors of the Hunger Games sooner, back home in District Ten.

Lainey takes a deep breath and then releases it slowly. "B-But until then we can all be friends, right?"

"Of course," I surprise myself once again by both being the one to answer and once again looking over to Alistair, this time holding his gaze for an extra second.

Lainey relaxes. "Okay. Well, we still have a bunch more days I think, according to Evee. We should just have fun and be friends, right? So Briony do we get to see how well you can climb now? Oh! By the way, what are all of these stations here for? The one with all the plants was a really fun game to play, are they trying to let us have fun before they take us away for good?"

Kerr takes Lainey's tiny hand in her own slightly larger one. "How about later today you and I have a nice long talk, Lainey. Briony and Ally can come too if you want. And even Evee if you'd like. I think there are a bunch of things you ought to know, Lainey."

Lainey's eyes widen and she nods. "Oh. Okay, Kerr." Then she smiles. "There are still more things I want to know. Do I really have to wait until later for you to tell me? Like, for example, what-"

"She'll answer it all later, Lainey," says Alistair.

Lainey shrugs. "Okay. I hope I don't forget my questions though, that would be annoying." She smiles. "C'mon guys, it's Briony's time to shine now. Oh! Maybe that's what all of this is for! To show everyone what our talents are and then they have to . . . kill us?" She cocks her head to the side, confused.

No one responds.

* * *

**Cameron Markensti, District Nine Male (15)**

* * *

I approach the District Seven girl carefully. She is climbing up a tree, aided by an instructor. I've noticed that there have been quite a few stations involving climbing this year. Mostly things like ropes, but trees too over here.

Her name is Birdy, I recall. I have been looking for an ally since training started, and I thought she might me a good choice because at least I can start a conversation with her about my district partner having allied with hers. It's a pretty lame conversation starter, but it's the best I have.

Birdy's face is lit up in a wide smile. As she places her hands and feet where she is told, it is almost like she is caressing the tree's bark.

I wait for Birdy to come down before I talk to her. When finally the instructor helps her back down I come up behind her, taking her behind surprise.

"Hi, I'm Cameron from District Nine. Or Cam if you'd like." I cut straight to introducing myself, regardless of whether she had been expecting me to approach her or not. "My district partner, Catt, and yours . . . whatever his name was . . . the two of them are allies, and I was just wondering if you would like to-"

"Oh yes of course!" she is grinning from ear to ear and laughs. "I'm so glad you found me now when I'm enjoying myself so much over hear. Cam was it? I'm Birdy. There are plenty of great activities here. I'd love to climb the tree again, or even a bigger one! Then there's the edible plants . . ."

She goes on and on, pretty much listing all the survival stations. I guess she's not really a weaponry kind of girl.

That's all right, though. I'm not really so interested in hurting anyone either.

I flash her my famous winning smile. "You seem excited to be with me, Birdy. And may I say I've never seen a face with quite so many freckles." I wink at her and she laughs. Generally, I'm pretty good with flirting, but maybe her being older than I am is getting me a bit flustered. That and the overload of peppiness and enthusiasm for plants is a bit of a turn off in the romance department. She seems like an overall kind enough girl for an ally, though.

Birdy's hair is light mousy brown in color; her eyes small and blue.

"So, Cam," she says, ignoring my last comment. "Where to first?"

I shrug and the two of us walk, side by side.

She brushes a speck of dust off of a leather bracelet on her wrist and sighs. The bracelet catches my eye.

Out of force of habit, the old thoughts flood into my brain: should I take it? I could give it to Fel, she would like it . . .

No, Cam! Of course not.

Stealing from Jordan Brooks to shut up his bragging was one thing. I cannot believe that since then my brain has trained itself to see something nice and immediately think of stealing it.

Birdy must follow my line of sight, because she explains, "It's my token from home. My friend Juniper gave it to me. She's my best friend even though my parents-" She cuts herself off and sighs. "She's my best friend."

"She sounds great," I say, even though all I know about her is her name and that she gave Birdy the leather bracelet. "My best friends' names are Iggy and Fel - well, Ignis and Felicity, but no one really calls them that, least of all me. Sometimes Iggy calls Fel 'Fail'. Iggy's funny . . ." I glance down at her for a second. "You don't care all that much, do you Birdy?"

"If we're going to be in an alliance, then sure. I'd love to hear it. Juniper has a nickname too, it's Junie."

We halt right before we can crash into the District Six boy who is headed right towards us. We are about to walk away when he calls us back. "It'd be nice if the two of you looked where you're going next time," he says. "I'm Manuel Maxwell of District Six. Pleased to meet you." He holds out his hand for us to shake and we each do in turn.

"Same here," I say. "I'm Cameron Markensti, District Nine, and this is Birdy . . ."

"Birdy Rhodes," she says. "From Seven."

"Pleasure," says Manuel. "Though there are better circumstances under which we could have met, so don't act as though this is an ideal situation."

"I didn't-"

He puts up a finger to cut me off. "Ah tut tut. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to speak when someone else is speaking? Cameron Markensti of District Nine, I believe it is high time someone showed you some proper manners. It's a tough job, but since I am so good at this type of thing, I suppose I'd be willing to do it."

His posture is perfect, his back upright. He places a hand on both my back and Birdy's to get us to stand with better posture as well.

He holds out his hand one last time to shake. "I'm Manuel Maxwell, and, if you two unmannered district people would not mind, your new ally as well."

* * *

**Caecilia Fairbane, District Two Female (18)**

* * *

I still cannot believe that Kai allowed Connor to become leader of the Career pack. Actually, there are many things about Kai that I do not understand. Like why he treats me so well, first of all, and is so polite with his whole "m'lady" business, when he has a girlfriend with whom he is madly in love with back home. Then again, he is Kai Loran. He will never ever cheat on his Milah, his girlfriend, true love, and soulmate. But he will always be kind, ever-so-polite, and even flirty with just about every female who he does not despise because that's just the way he is.

And how do I know all this? I know so much about Kai because I live in District Two and he is my district partner. I have pretty much known that he would be since the two of us turned fourteen and graduated to the upper level of the Academy we attended. I had known him earlier from school, and we were in the younger kids' class at the Academy together from a very young age, but it was not until then that I was told that Kai Loran would be my district partner someday; that the two of us were both good enough to Volunteer and that we would be doing it together in our final year of eligibility for the Games. And, obviously, that we had to know each others' strengths and weaknesses inside and out. For instance, I know that Kai is a brutal fighter. I also know that he has a weakness for women. He knows that I am always planning ahead, trying to be one step ahead of my opponent. He knows that I do not handle stress well.

Sometimes I try to envision what my life would have been like if Mother had won the seemingly everlasting argument between her and Father over whether I should train to be a tribute and eventual Victor or not. I cannot picture my life any other way. The person that Father has shaped me to be through training is the person I am today, and I cannot even imagine not being her.

This year's six Careers are standing together in a tight cluster. Sierra and Dream are still refusing to look at each other, though Sierra does get on fine with the rest of us. Connor is still a goofball as ever. None of us can understand a word Fibbi says; Dream says he goes to a different school than she, one for "Mentally defective" students or something like that if she can recall correctly.

And then there's Kai and I. We are truly the ones with the leadership roles, Kai more so than myself I'll admit, but I'm looking to change that. One thing is for certain though, Connor is in no position of true leadership. He has no pull on any of us.

Kai has informed us all of his skill with certain varieties of swords, and Fibbi and Sierra are both eager to see what he can do. I, of course, have already seen his skills. For the most part, Father made me train at home with him, but I was enrolled in a Training Academy, and Kai always was my designated district partner.

He slices through dummy after dummy, tearing each one to shreds, his sword acting like the teeth of a wolf who has not eaten in days. Kai is a kind person, but on the battlefield he thinks of nothing but the attack.

A series of noises is emitted from Fibbi's mouth, a complement I presume. Sierra gushes to him about how lovely that was as well and Dream gives a nod of approval. Connor is not paying attention.

I say nothing. After yesterday's incident in which Dream set the Training Center on fire, the Careers did not get to return to watch me work my magic with a spear, which is a bit irksome because I'd rather enjoy having them look at me with respect, knowing what I can do.

Dream raises both eyebrows. "What species are you, Loran?"

Kai smiles, unfazed. "I take that as a complement, Miss Swiller. Now you'd better watch out because that dummy over there could be you, Dream. Didn't Sierra over here threaten to do something similar to you, but with a knife. I tell you, Dream, Sierra should be more than capable of making good on that threat."

He says it all lightheartedly, and with a laugh, but Dream's eyes pop open and rest on Sierra, not removing themselves. She looks like she is envisioning herself torn into a hundred pieces like each of the practice dummies, stuffing pouring out on the floor.

"Just teasing, Dream, don't worry." Kai claps her on the back, but it only causes a shudder to run through her body. She tears her gaze away from Sierra and looks down at the pieces of fabric and metal Kai just cut up and she takes a deep breath in attempt to calm herself.

"Hey, you all right, Dream?" says Kai, suddenly turning serious.

"She's fine," I tell him. "And we'd better move on. We're not here to sit around and chat about killing each other painfully. We're here to practice doing so to the outer tributes . . . and eventually each other."

"Isn't she just brilliant?" Kai says to Fibbi. "C'mon everyone. Moving on now."

* * *

**Keon Watts, District Three Male (16)**

* * *

It's been a while since I've done the flattery act, but it's working well on Kit, helping convince her of my innocence. She'll help me win the Games, I just know it. In actuality, I haven't the faintest idea of what her and her friends get up to, but I know it's something that could come in handy to me and I know that she is a smart girl. I prefer to have her believe that I know about what she does though. She's going to help me win for sure, and it's better that she thinks I have something over her (even if it's something I pretend to be in awe of) so thank you very much, Circuit Tethra.

Back at the reaping she did not seem like a very strong competitor, but then again, not everyone can have my nonchalance at being chosen for the slaughter.

I'm determined to coax out of her what her and her friends do in that basement of hers. After all, she did not seem too thrilled when I told her that I knew already, so it must be something worth finding out.

Kit smirks at my blond halo of curls and I internally smirk as well, pleased with myself. She must think I'm nothing but a kid smart enough to come to her for help, that is, if she's arrogant enough to believe that she can provide me with help. Well, I guess it's not arrogance if it's true. I think I'll be able to use Kit a lot anyway. She's sneaky, she might be able to help me in that area. I'll try to keep her in for a while, but alas, there can only be one Victor, and the only reason Kit is even standing next to me right now (though she does not yet know it) is that I believe she can help me become it.

Kit grabs my shoulder just as we are about to approach the sword station. For a moment I think it's because the Career pack is just leaving from there and she is frightened, but then she speaks. "Keon, are you related to Wes Watts?"

"Yeah, he's my brother." Now I have to make her feel like I wish she knew me before the Games instead of my brother. "Wow, I'd bet Wes would be honored if he knew that you knew of him." I sigh. "Too bad I'm just a nobody to you." I look down at my shoes and fold my arms across my chest.

Kit smirks, as if sharing some inside joke with herself. "Don't worry. I don't really know him, I've just heard of him from a, uh, a friend of mine who's his age. Don't feel bad, Keon."

I blush outwardly, but on the inside I'm grinning. I've won her over. A smirk of Kit's I've noticed can be taken in many ways. Here I believe it is the equivalent of a sympathetic smile.

She's mine. Now the two of us just need to battle through the Games together. She'll help me win for sure.

"What was that?" asks Kit.

"Huh? I didn't say anything." I did not realize, but I must have been muttering aloud.

"Oh. Okay then, Keon. Swords it is. I'm not all too good with weapons, but I don't expect that you are either, so this seems like a good place to start."

I nod, and she says no more, but the look she gives me tells me that maybe I have not won Kit over completely yet. Maybe I was wrong. Me being wrong is a rare occasion, but it does happen. Perhaps Circuit Tethra is onto me.

That's all right though. In all honesty I was not expecting to win her over this quickly. I will though. She's a part of my plan to win, and I know that once I'm done playing with that sharp little mind of hers, she'll be more than willing to help me out.

* * *

**Sierra Rosini, District Four Female (17)**

* * *

I am very impressed with Kai and I tell him so again. It's not everyday that I get to see a dummy slashed to a million pieces like that, and I must say, Kai is a pretty nice guy who deserves the glory. Well, he deserves _this_ glory. But not the glory of winning. That's reserved for me and me alone and I and I alone will be the one to have it showered upon me.

Honestly, I'm quite fond of just about all of my fellow Careers. Connor, Fibbi, Kai, and Caecilia are all great. And then there's Dream. All she does is just deliberately try to get under my skin time and time again, and guess what, she has succeeded. Truthfully, I think I'd prefer my step-sister, Molly to her, and that's saying something because she and I do _not _get along well.

The second day of training is finally over, I realize as I look around at the four faces surrounding me.

Cinitha, our escort, Mare and Tidal, our mentors, and of course, Connor and myself all sit at the dinner table, waiting to be served. I place my napkin in my lap and await the meal. I'm not even hungry, I'm just interested in seeing what the second day of training's dinner has in store for us. I like comparing it to Apollo's food, as well as my own that Apollo taught me to make. It is always painful and brings on waves of nostalgia, but I do enjoy thinking about my family back home, and I include Apollo in my family even if some of the other members of my family do not. And by "some of the other members" I am mainly referring to Ayla and Molly, my father's wife of ten, almost eleven years, and her, ahem, _lovely _daughter. Lovely compared to a gang of sharks.

Well, I guess I would not call Apollo "family" because I have a crush on him, and otherwise it would just be weird, but . . . he's close to my heart is what I'm saying.

The Avoxes serve the others and me. Like with the previous meals, I don't recognize much of the food. Apparently, hear in the Capitol they have a ton more than back home, and I was among the filthy rich of my district, even for a Career district.

The meaty dish floods my tongue and I sigh in contempt. After a large swallow and a gulp of water, I smile brightly at Connor.

"I'm proud of you for being made the official Career leader, Connor. You deserve it." He does not deserve it, and I'm no idiot, I can tell that he is not really the one taking charge, but I don't care. I still want him to feel good about himself, and I _am _actually proud of him, him being my district partner and all.

I go on. "It's not often that the leader is chosen from a district other than Two, and even less often that it's from Four. Typically, the leader would be the District Two Male, but I'm proud that it's you instead, Connor."

Connor blushes and grins. "Why thank you, Sierra, babe. Yo, How about a nice rap of gratitude to go along with that?"

"Well, I-"

"Aw, don't be shy, Sierra. I don't mind treating such a fine young woman like yourself, yo, you know. Yo, I actually rap is not just a talent, but a passion of mine - hey! That is a nice quote, if you'd be so kind as to take that down, yo, for when I get back from these Games and become famous and people start quoting me left and right. It'd be nice if there were some good Connor quotes for all those adoring fans back home to go around saying."

I sigh. Connor truly does believe that he is a master of rap and that he has adoring crowds of fans back home screaming his name and hoping desperately that he will win so that he can give them more of his raps. Now, I don't really know much about rap . . . actually, I've never even heard the term before in my life, but something tells me Connor does not do it quite as well as he ought to in order to become famous someday.

I don't really have the heart to be the one to break any of it to him, though, so I just nod politely.

Connor begins.

"Yo.

"Sierra.

"I am your friend.

"And district partner, Connor Poe.

"I'm glad you're happy.

"That I'm your leader,

"Cause I'll let you take a nappy.

"Unlike that District Two cheater."

"He's a cheater?" I gasp. "At what?"

Connor laughs. "No, yo. Sometimes in rap you gotta make some stuff up to get it to rhyme. Yo, Sierra, it's okay, it's not that you're stupid, yo, I just have a lot more to teach you."

I'm pretty sure that this particular rap had a skewed rhyming pattern, but I just thank Connor anyway and turn back to my food.

The fish we are offered alongside everything else, reminds me of home. Of Apollo.

But there are other things, besides cooking and baking, that Apollo taught me.

He taught me how to wield a knife. How to kill with a knife.

Apollo is the reason that I am going to survive the Hunger Games, the reason that I will be able to get myself back to him when I win.

* * *

**Jax Conkel, District Twelve Male (17)**

* * *

Saffron catches my arm on the way to breakfast the morning of the third day of training.

"Hey, Jax. I, um, I just, I wanted to say thanks again for being my ally. I bet a strong and . . . well a strong guy like you could have picked up a better ally, and well, thanks for taking me for your alliance."

"No problem. Besides, you're super smart, I know, and you were so good with the plants the past two days."

She blushes, but smiles underneath. "Th-thank you. You . . . well, like I said, Jax, you're really strong and you were able to lift so much . . ." She trails off.

I looks at her funnily and she shrugs.

The two of us sit down at the breakfast table alongside Peeta, Iris, and Arella.

I can't believe Iris is younger than both Saffron and me and she is Saffron's mentor.

Peeta smiles at us. "How'd you guys sleep."

Saffron exclaims that we were quite well all night, while pulling her brunette hair into a high ponytail.

Saffron and I don't eat too much for breakfast; our stomachs still have not quite adjusted to the abundance of food in the Capitol, so we only stuff our faces as much as our bodies can tolerate. Peeta warned us about it on the very first day.

"Peeta, Iris?" Saffron beckons.

"Hm?"

"Well, as you know the Private Training Sessions and interviews are coming up shortly, and, well, Jax and I really do need some advice, so . . ."

Peeta smiles a little sadly. "Can I tell you guys a story?"

We nod and he continues. "I once knew a girl, my very own district partner in my own Games in fact, who scored an eleven out of twelve in her Training Session, and excelled in her interview as well as way back in the Chariot Ride, earning the support of many Capitol citizens."

"But, you and her both won, didn't you Peeta?" I ask tentatively. I don't mean to upset him, but I'm curious as to why he's telling us this story.

Peeta nods. "We did. But then she was murdered by the Capitol, a year later, and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

Saffron's gray eyes are staring at him intently. The whole time his voice is soft, soothing, but his words hold an underlying bitterness.

Saffron grabs Iris' hand, perhaps just to have something to grip onto, or maybe because she does not want a child like Iris to see Peeta in this kind of pain.

"Her name was Katniss Everdeen, as I believe both of you know. And you know something, Jax, Saffron? The legacy she left lies more in my heart than in the piece of paper with her name on the list of District Twelve's Victors." A tear leaks out of his eye and my eyes follow it down his cheek.

Iris shrinks lower into her chair, but does not release Saffron's hand.

"So my advice?" Now he smiles at us and the skin around his eyes crinkles. " . . . Saffron Irons and Jax Conkel, Iris and I will do every single thing in our power to ensure a victory from one of the two of you, which we want desperately from you sweet children. But remember, that the legacy you leave lies more in the hearts of those you know and love than the minds of those who name you Victor. So, work on your skills, work on everything that might help you win. But most of all, as best as you can, work on your relationships."

Iris touches Saffron's hand tentatively and looks us each in the eye. "Peeta and I will never forget the two of you. Saffron, you are my very first mentee officially, but Jax, really you are as well. We're a team, all five of us."

Arella, who had been fixing her nails this whole time, beams at us, thrilled to have been included.

I brighten up. "Hey, you're right Peeta. And I bet with the two of us working together, we'll probably even have a shot at this. Time to go, Saffron! The final day of training!"

"Thanks for everything," Saffron whispers. To whom? To all of us I suppose.

* * *

**Lainey Bristol, District Ten Female (12)**

* * *

"Are you all right, Lainey?" Kerr asks kindly.

I shrug and wrap my arms around myself. I always thought that The Hunger Games was just a bad TV show. Now that Evee and Kerr's information is combining in my mind I'm just so confused and scared.

Now I know that I'm going to die. But everyone still refuses to tell me how. I don't like it very much when my questions go unanswered.

I try to smile. "Thank you, Kerr. I'm really glad to be part of this . . . alliance. But I still don't understand: what do we need an alliance for?"

"Oh, sweetie, I don't think today's the right day to tell you that." Kerr keeps pushing off my questions.

"Okay. I'm still glad that the four of us get to be friends. You are all great friends . . . I think . . . what does that mean to be good friends?"

No one answers my question, but they respond to the first part of my statement, which I suppose is better than nothing.

Briony beams and Kerr shakes her head sadly before sighing and saying. "Yes, Lainey dear, we are all great friends." She mutters something else that I do not quite catch.

I smile widely, and can almost feel my blue-gray eyes lighting up and my dimples popping out. "I don't have any friends back home. Hey, by the way, Kerr, did you know that Ally is taller than you?"

Kerr scowls a bit, but shrugs it off. I don't understand what the problem is. I think it's actually cute that he is taller.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She smiles warmly, all traces of the scowl gone from her features. "Nothing is wrong."

I purse my lips for a moment, contemplating, then I shrug widely and the four of us begin to walk around the Training Center.

I fall into step beside Briony. "You're really good with climbing, Briony," I say. "How did you get so good? Are you really allowed to do something so dangerous back home?"

She seems confused. I don't know why. "You mean to tell me, Lainey, that in Ten you were never allowed to do anything remotely dangerous? Not even if it would help feed your family?"

"Not even for fun?" Ally interjects.

I shake my head vigorously. "No, no, no. Of course not! Mother and Father would never willingly allow my brother Kenan or me to do anything that might get us hurt. Though Kenan has become a bit rebellious against them in this way . . ."

Briony laughs a bit.

Ally seems shocked, but I still cannot understand how doing something dangerous would be fun. I'll have to ask Kenan to explain it to me when . . . oh wait . . .

I can't get used to the idea that I will never see my brother again. It is simply not resonating with my brain. Kenan has pretty much been my guide through life. He is willing to answer as many questions as I have to ask and he tries to show me things even some things that my parents don't want me to see that are a little scary, but he helps me overcome the fear.

I depend on others. I depend on Kenan at home. Here, I depend on Kerr, Briony, and Ally.

I depend on them for . . . for my life.

The thought makes my eyes well up with tears. I am scared. There's no other way to put it than that. I am scared.

* * *

**Forest Sunflower, District Seven Male (18)**

* * *

After my, um, incident back at the Chariot Ride, Catt was tentative to remain in an alliance with me, but I've persuaded her since then, even after my second breakdown after the fire was set off during the first day of training. I tend to have control over people. If I want Catt to remain my ally, I can find a way of keeping her in my alliance.

If I had to bet on someone other than a Career winning these Games, I'd bet on Catt. I'm not sure what it is, but there is something fishy about her. She knows how to fight quite well for someone from an outer district. Actually, I'd say she's pretty deadly with both throwing knives and a sword for most tributes, but especially a District Nine girl.

I've gotten rather good at assessing the odds, since I started gambling. Now, one out of twenty-four is not good odds for any of us, even a highly trained Career. But Catt does have a better shot of winning than I do. I need her on my side. I can already tell that she's second best to the Careers, and I'm not even going to attempt to win them over. Though if I really wanted to, I probably could.

One thing that myself and my district partner, Birdy, have in common, is our extensive knowledge of what nature has to offer. The main difference, however, is that while she _chooses_ to spend as much time as possible outdoors, I am _forced _to live in the woods, because I have had nowhere else to go ever since my family was all killed in that house fire.

At least, that's what they tell me.

All that I know about the deaths of every member of my family is from what others in the district have told me. I don't remember much of anything from that fateful event. All I remember is fire.

Fire is the enemy, that much I know. That much I have drilled into my own brain.

"Nice shot once again, Catt," I commend her once more on her skills with Throwing Knives.

"Thank you. Now it's been three days of training. You've seen what I can do. Now it's your turn, pretty boy."

My turn? To do what?

"By the way," I say to her, before I can forget, changing the subject. "I've always had a soft spot for cats."

"Cats? As in the animal?"

"Yes, just thought you should know."

She smiles for a brief second, but then her expression turns serious again. "Don't change the subject, Forest. I need to assess your skills. Is there anything at all that you can do."

"Sure," I say smoothly. "Lots of things."

She thinks for a moment. "Any weapons you can use?"

I nod at her. "Do you think they have a Swiss Arrow here today?"

"How should I know?"

"Just wondering."

I hold tightly onto the four leafed clover given to me by Ace when she said goodbye, still wearing her black hooded sweatshirt, her face never revealed. She whispered to me "you will win" and that was that.

Now I know that sometimes Ace does beat me at gambling, so I should not doubt her calculations, but according to the odds, she will be proven incorrect.

The tiny plant is almost crushed between my firm, tanned fingers, as if somehow this will provide me with any more luck.

I'll try anything that might help. After all, I'm going to need all the luck I can get where I'm going.

* * *

**Summer Blaze, District Five Female (17)**

* * *

Everyone is already pairing up, forming alliances. I've been goofing off, deliberating, just hanging out . . . doing all of the things that I should not have been doing, when I _should have _been training and forming an alliance.

Well, better late than never.

The District Eleven boy is practicing hand-to-hand combat with a trainer. He looks pretty strong.

I tap him on the shoulder and he jumps back angrily from the fight.

"I'm kind of busy here." He pauses for a moment. "Do you know that there are five earrings in your right ear, but only four in your left? I'd suggest you fix that."

I ignore him. "I-"

The trainer gets my attention. "Do I have to leave the two of you alone?"

I nod before the boy can say anything, and he clenches his fist in anger. Oh well. Too bad I didn't make such a great first impression.

"I'm Summer, like the season," I say, shaking out my hair, naturally wavy and brunette. streaked with different colors.

"Martial Avalaine," he says. "Like I said. I'm not interested in talking to silly girls like yourself. Especially ones who cannot seem to have anything in the right proportions: not only are the earrings messed up, but did you notice that you have a tattoo only on your right arm? That makes things even more unbalanced."

I'm not discouraged by his lack of enthusiasm. He's probably just nervous about the upcoming Private Sessions, interviews, and then Games.

Speaking of which, I'd better start preparing for my Private Session and interview.

And I should start training, after all, only, what? Two more days after today until the arena. That's a frightening thought.

And then there's this whole alliance business. I hope Martial wants to join me. My own district partner gave me a flat out no when I asked him to ally with me. Oh! Both of the District Eight tributes are not yet allied, I see. Maybe one of them will want me to join them if not Martial . . .

"Do you want to be in an alliance with me?" I say outright.

He smirks. "Can you do anything that will be useful for me?"

"I'm a fast learner," I tell him. "Try showing me anything and I'll catch on right away."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah. Watch. Demonstrate for me how to throw a punch."

For a moment I remember that his district is the second poorest, and wonder if his family gets by well enough at home. Then I wonder why that thought even popped into my head at a time like this.

Martial makes a fist by folding in his fingers, and brings his strong arm across onto the target, breaking a hole through it.

I emulate him and have a similar result, though much more mild and not quite on the bullseye.

"Fine," he spits. "You've passed, District Five. Consider us allies."

I twirl a pink strand of hair around my finger. "Well, isn't this wonderful. An alliance. We'll get along swell, Martial. I can already tell that much."

He eyes me warily. "We may or may not _get along swell_. Don't go assuming things like that," he snaps.

He looks away from me and allows his dark brown eyes to burn into the wall.

Did I say something I shouldn't have?

"Three rules to start off with now, Summer. Firstly, do as I say without hesitation or question. Secondly, don't assume anything about me or our relationship. And third, make sure to clean yourself up and not make me have to look at your wretchedly imbalanced piercings and tattoos. That's all for now, but I'm sure I'll think of more later."

* * *

**Fibonacci "Fibbi" Luxius, District One Male (17)**

* * *

They all think I'm stupid, I'd bet. "Slow," just like my parents assumed automatically.

It's not true, though. If the other Careers would just give me more of a chance than they have so far, I could show them how I have other ways of communicating. In order to communicate with Neon, for example, I learned sign language, and the two of us were able to become the best of friends, the arrangement working out brilliantly for the two of us.

None of the other Careers are deaf like Neon, or mute like myself, but if Neon and I were able to work something out, I don't see why we all can't.

I wish I could have gotten more done in this Training Center. I meant to fight with as many tributes as possible before the Games began to assess them and figure out their styles. The only ones whom I was able to challenge to a fight, however, were Kai (he would have beaten me, but then the trainer forced us to stop before he tore my face to shreds like he did with those dummies yesterday) as well as the boys from Districts Eleven and Eight. Well, the boy from Eight ran away screaming right after Sierra asked him on my behalf to fight and he saw my muscles. The Eleven boy, however . . . that was a good matchup. He's a good fighter, but I have figured out his weaknesses in case I ever take him on again . . . he pays too much attention to detail. He gets too distracted by imperfections, which, paradoxically enough, is an imperfection of his own.

None of the Careers respect me as much as I wish they did, that's for sure, but, ironically, the only one of them who's actually been rude to me is my very own district partner, Dream. Then again, Dream does seem to enjoy the pain of others. It gives her satisfaction to see us in discomfort. Others being uncomfortable and fire seem to be the two most fascinating thins in the world to Dream Swiller.

Seriously, the girl sets the entire Training Center on fire, and all she receives is a bop on the head from myself, a screaming from Sierra, and a few stern words from Kai and Caecilia. I bet if I set the Training Center on fire, they would blame it on my stupidity.

I guess that's life for people like me, though. If only Michaela were here. Michaela would figure out a way to show them how intelligent and skilled I truly am. Michaela can figure out just about anything in an instant.

She's the one who came up with the plan to get me into the Training Academy, telling our parents that I need to "observe" Rex training "in order to give Rex a training dummy."

It's an awful thing to say about a human being, but hey, it got me in and it's the reason I'm here, and I'm forever grateful to Michaela for it.

We all keep asking Connor what he can do, but he just changes the subject repeatedly and replies in rap-form which is really getting on my nerves.

Now he's decided that he needs to think up a rap for each one of us.

I am lucky enough to go first.

"Yo, yo,

"You are Fibonacci

"And-"

I cut him off with an extra large smack onto his spiky blond head.

"Ow," he massages it. "Not cool, yo. Not cool at all."

Kai sighs in relief and nods approvingly at me. "Nice one there, Fibbi. Can you show the rest of us how to do that?"

I nod eagerly. Yes! Finally! I have impressed them and all of their eyes are on me . . .

Oh wait. That was a joke.

Color rushes to my cheeks and Dream laughs slightly, still glancing over her shoulder.

"Don't laugh at him," Sierra says harshly. "He's my friend."

The two girls stare each other down, but that comment of Sierra's just about made my day. I'm her friend? I can hardly believe it.

I try to tell her that she's my friend too, but it comes out like, "perferndu."

Sierra blinks once, then smiles at me, though it's obvious she has no idea what I said.

I sigh. What else is new?

* * *

**Manuel Maxwell, District Six Male (15)**

* * *

Kerr wants to have a nice long chat with Glass and Halette about training and the next few days. Me? I breeze on straight passed them, not stopping until I almost slam into the door of my new bedroom.

I walk inside and throw myself onto the plush duvet cover for a moment and then I sit up straight, disgusted with what I have already become from these Games, and dash downstairs to join in on the conversation. For a moment there I almost missed out on a conversation which Kerr and I may or may not be obligated to have. I don't know whether there is a rule about speaking to your mentors, but I have not done so yet because I'm not too keen on the idea of telling someone what to do. But rules are rules and since this _might _be a rule, I'm not going to take a chance on possibly doing the unthinkable and breaking it.

"Hello," I greet the two of them diplomatically. Halette nods her approval of my joining the conversation. Glass does not even acknowledge me, wrapped too deeply in his conversation.

I can't have Halette and Glass on my bad side, I realize; these are the people whom I want to elect me mayor someday if I make it out of the arena alive.

For a moment, I am struck with the thought that my role in my new alliance is almost like that of a mentor. I am teaching them how to act. A different kind of "how to act" than what Halette is meant to teach me, sure, but I am giving them manners and providing them with a proper insight into how a future mayor conducts himself.

I am beginning to figure out that there is a method to Birdy's madness; a pattern; a schedule of sorts on which she runs. That's good. I always run on a schedule.

Birdy, she is bright and a sweet girl in the presence of any sort of plant or outdoorsy, nature-related thing. Otherwise, she turns sullen, or even emotionless at times That's good. That's a pattern.

But then there's Cam. Cam is the one who needs the most work. He is just a mess of smiling, laughing, throwing things . . . He needs work and I told him so. He seemed pretty offended, but did not say anything, only exchanging a quick glance with Birdy. Cam also has a habit of taking things that don't belong to him, which is totally dishonest, especially when someone might have worked hard for that particular object.

A dimple pops out on Halette's pink cheek as she smiles at me. "So, Manuel. Are you all prepared for your Training Session tomorrow?"

I clear my throat. "I'm glad you asked, Halette. Well, actually, before training began I set up a whole schedule for myself of how to manage my time between the stations. I left forming my alliance until today, because I have the whole time in the arena to work on them, but only three days to work on myself before the Sessions. And I do like to do things thoroughly; utilize each and every moment to it's fullest capacity."

She nods. "That's good. Planning ahead is always a good strategy. Just make sure you don't get to caught up in planning everything for the future, that you don't forget to worry about the present."

"I don't forget very much," I tell her. Well, at least when it comes to things like this. Schedules. Time. Order. I don't forget much about this stuff.

Evidently, Halette has nothing more to say to me, because she just begins to pat my knee awkwardly, until Glass gives her a warning glance, telling her to remove it.

I wait until Kerr and Glass are finished speaking; bad manners won't reflect on myself very well someday if I survive the Games and run for mayor and even a small child knows that it is impolite to speak when someone else is speaking. Once they are done, I say to Kerr: "It looked to me as though you were just making up what to do as you went along back at training. That's not a very wise move, Kerr. Trust me. I want you to do well, and it makes me nervous that you and those little allies of yours are just all over the place not using your time wisely."

"That's sweet of you, Manuel," she smiles kindly. "Don't worry though. We'll be fine. You should just focus on doing well yourself."

I excuse myself from the table politely, as does Kerr. Halette and Glass disperse as well.

Kerr touches my forearm kindly as the two of us walk together. "You're a good kid, Manuel, you know that? I know you mean well."

She leaves me to ponder that with one last warm smile and fleeting wave.

My stomach churns as I open up my bedroom door for the second time this evening.

Tomorrow is the Private Training Sessions. Then comes the interviews.

And then the Games begin.

* * *

**Lean On Me by The Temptations**

* * *

**Link to the blog for this story (just remove the spaces): heights101hg. blogspot. com**

* * *

**I would really appreciate it if you guys answered some of the questions I have for you at the end of each chapter xD**

**_Out of the 12 POV's you saw here, which stood out to you and why?_**

**_Which alliance is your favorite as of now and why?_**

**_Which alliance looks the strongest to you as of now and why?_**

**_And, of course, How was my writing in this chapter?_**

* * *

**And so here it is! Chapter 5! It's a bit shorter than Chapter 4, so please forgive me for that :)**

* * *

**The final alliances have been made! I apologize if you did not want an alliance but I gave you one anyway or vice versa. I am pretty sure this only happened in one case, and it is because I was not quite sure of how to bring out your tribute's personality if not in an alliance :')**

**So, we have (in sort of district order for at least one member of the alliance) The Careers, Kit/Keon, Summer/Martial, James, Kerr/Lainey/Alistair/Briony, Manuel/Birdy/Cam, Forest/Catt, Terra, Solris, and lastly Saffron/Jax :DDD**

* * *

**I WILL BE PUTTING UP A POLL ON PROFILE FOR YOUR FAVORITE TRIBUTES SO FAR :D PLEASE GO VOTE IN THAT :DDD**

* * *

**Please drop me a review if you have time. It DOES affect your tribute's chances in the Games, though it is not the only factor I consider :) That is all and I hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Under Pressure

**The following chapter deals with the Private Training Sessions and the tributes receiving their scores :D At the very end there's some interview prep with the stylists as well, because the next chapter will pretty much kick off with the interviews! :D**

* * *

**Under Pressure**

_It's the terror of knowing_

_What this world is about_

* * *

**Circuit "Kit" Tethra, District Three Female (17)**

* * *

"Do you think you're ready for today?" I ask Keon, with an attempt at friendliness.

He shrugs sheepishly. "I- I guess so. I'd bet you know exactly what you're doing, though, Kit, because you're so smart."

I smirk. "If by 'know what I'm doing' you mean making it up as I go along, then yes Keon, I know exactly what I'm doing."

He laughs. "And you're funny too! See? I knew I made the right choice for an ally with you, Kit."

It was a lie, of course. I have an idea formulating in my mind . . . I just hope it's enough. Most of what I know how to do from the Breaching Bugs involves decoding and hacking into the computer systems of our targets from which we steal, in order to get passed the security systems they place against us. However, there is also the element of the actual steal that is not to be forgotten. I know what it feels like for that rush of adrenaline to be pulsing through my veins when I know that I am doing something wrong, illegal even, but I'm doing it for my own sake and the sakes of those I care about, so in my mind, though not legal, the robberies we perform from (mostly) the wealthy who have more money than they know what to do with to feed ourselves and our starving families, are indeed moral.

But still, it's stealing. Sneaky, stealthy, that's what I am. That's what I was beforehand, and that is what the Breaching Bugs has amplified within me. I take every single detail into account when forming a plan, anticipating every possible result. I think on my feet. I'm quiet.

As I said, I am sneaky. I am stealthy.

I am no Digit, that is for sure, but I believe I'm good enough to earn myself at least an average score on my Training Session using one of my more carefully devised, methodical plans. As long as I have an exact procedure to follow, I won't even have to think about what audience I am standing in front of, and the fear won't practically cut off my usage of my brain cells (and some body ones as well.)

I feel bad for Keon though. He does not seem to be so skilled in anything that can be of use to him in the Games. Whereas I just have to figure out my plan and stick to it, Keon . . . well, I don't know what the poor guy will be able to figure out.

"Don't worry, Keon, you'll figure something out," I say, with an attempt at reassurance.

Another one of those, "Split-Second-Lasting emotions" crosses his face, this time, amusement. It changes to an appreciative blush, however, before I can even bat an eyelash.

I smirk, pleased with myself for having caught onto these mysterious faces of Keon. I do wonder what is up with him. Perhaps he is just slow, and does not understand the meaning of my words until a second too late . . . or perhaps there is something else going on with him.

I'll have to wait and see.

"All ready to go?" His eyes, usually the only body part which contradicts his innocence, hold virtually nothing in them right at this moment.

I smirk. I am feeling a mixture of relief and guilt. Imagine if Glitch found out that I keep interpreting Keon as though he's trying to harm me, when he so clearly is not. Glitch would have a good laugh at me. He'd mock me for years. Of course, he would not demand my leadership of the Breaching Bugs revoked, because Cordin appointed me as such, and Glitch has come to terms with and accepted Cordin's decision.

Glitch is basically my older brother. We tease each other to no end and roll our eyes at the other's words of mockery, as if we do not care what the other thinks or says, even though we both inwardly do. But we would do anything for each other, that's for certain. And I don't exaggerate very much. When I say "anything", I mean it.

"I don't see why not?" I reply smugly. "What good are we doing ourselves up here?"

He nods timidly, and then does something I was not really expecting. He takes my hand in his own and shakes a bit when I do not protest and we walk hand in hand toward the elevator bank. I'm glad to be of some comfort to him in this way, though it actually looks as though it made Keon even more nervous.

Oh well. I hope my ally has some luck in his Training Session, but I do not audibly tell him so just yet. I feel as though this would just make him even more nervous.

I'm going to need some luck too. But, as far as I know, Keon is going to need more of it.

Sponsors are important in the Games. We need them. And so, we need them to like us. No, not just like us. We need them to like us better than all of the other tributes. Being likable is not that hard. Being more likable than twenty-two other teenagers, however . . . now that's a project worthy of a Breaching Bug.

* * *

**Kai Loran, District Two Male (18)**

* * *

We are supposed to wait in the canteen until our names are called. Caecilia and I are the second Careers to arrive, Fibbi being the first. For a second I wonder why he came down without Dream, and then laugh at myself, thinking about exactly who his district partner is.

Fibbi waves us over, bursting with excitement. Caecilia and I are seated and the three of us remain silent for a while.

Whilst Fibbi seems perfectly comfortable with the gap in conversation, I have a bunch of thoughts floating at the back of my mind which I have prevented from spilling out for far too long, and need to get out know.

"So, um, Fibbi . . . you can't talk?"

I don't mean to sound so blunt, but none of us can understand a thing the guy says, and I've never had much of a filter . . . it's a wonder I've kept it in this long in fact.

The question earns me a whack on the head from its recipient and a disapproving look from my district partner, but Fibbi does produce a response in the end; a shake of the head.

"Oh. Well that's cool." I try to make it sound believable, but Fibbi raises an eyebrow at me skeptically.

Before I can say anything else that will, no doubt, get me further into Fibbi's bad books, the District Four Tributes enter the room, hand in hand, blowing kisses and waving to all.

Caecilia smirks at them as they make their way over to our Career table.

Not a moment later, Dream waltzes in. Every time she passes another tribute, she winces and looks over her right shoulder, then left, then right again. By the time she reaches the Careers, she looks pretty traumatized just from the walk all the way to this table; the closest to the Training Center in which we will be having out Private Sessions.

Connor takes her hand. "Hey, Dream Girl. Yo, you don't need to be so scared. I'll protect you from everything they throw at you."

Sierra, from the seat next to him, purses her lips, and her face heats up, red with jealousy, but she does not say a word.

Connor did absolutely nothing in training over the past three days. He has not been the leader of our alliance. He has not even been a member of our alliance. I don't know how he can even look at himself in the mirror, knowing that he has not bothered to show us, his _allies_, any of his skills. Now we know nothing about him except that he likes girls and rapping. Mostly rapping.

I scowl at him, and am about to mention something about it, when the very first tribute, our ally, is called up to enter his Private Session.

"Fibonacci Luxius, District One."

Fibbi stands up as soon as the first syllable is uttered and grins broadly. As he is about to enter his session, he is informed by a trainer that he cannot bring his stick with him. He gives her a nice smack on the forehead, but drops it and prepares himself to be observed by the Gamemakers.

The minutes seem to tick by as hours, yet, looking at the clock, it has not been all too long since Fibbi was called when Dream is.

Dream's Session takes slightly longer than Fibbi's. Finally, it dawns on me that it is just about my turn. I am next. It's okay. I know what I am doing. I am a kind person most of the time, or at least I try to be . . .

But on the battlefield, I am nothing but a vicious animal. A predator. And if nothing else, a predator knows how to attack his prey. That's what these Hunger Games are all about, being the predator and not the prey. I don't see how the Private Sessions should be any different if they are all about evaluating our capabilities before the Games begin.

"Kai Loran, District Two."

I smirk. These Gamemakers don't know what they have coming, but I'm going to make good on my silent pact to myself to be the real Career leader, as Connor is doing absolutely nothing. And part of being the leader involves getting the highest score, and subsequently grossing the most sponsors for us.

Gamemakers, watch out. Because I, Kai Loran, am about to blow you away.

* * *

**Solris Reen, District Eight Male (15)**

* * *

Terra and I awkwardly sit side by side. I know we're not allies, but I sat down next to her anyway, not wanting to be alone. When she did not protest, I took it as a sign that she approved of my company as we wait to be called.

It's not like I was scared or anything, I just thought it was awkward to be sitting alone, okay?

Though I told myself last night I wouldn't, I now run through the mental list of everything Bonnie and Tulle informed and instructed me. Aside from their insistence that I will not survive a day in the Games without a ally, I did receive some useful information and advice.

For example, Tulle told me that their would be a pile of things to choose from, and that there is almost always something for everyone, even if it is not your first choice weapon, so do not settle for the first thing you see. Or rather, _I _should not settle for the first thing _I _see. _Me._ _I_ am in the Hunger Games, or will be within a matter of days. I'll admit, I am a bit scared of death. Okay, more than a bit, but who isn't? I just don't want to wind up killed in the Bloodbath . . . I want to prove something about myself . . . I'm not even sure what yet, but I know that I cannot do it from inside a coffin.

"Circuit Tethra, District Three."

My stomach clenches. Already District Three? That means only five more districts to go.

A saying jumps to the front of my mind: "catch falling leaves in autumn and you'll have good luck. Every leaf means a lucky month." It's random, but sometimes it's the random ones that come to mind.

Why did I not catch as many falling leaves this past autumn as I possibly could. Did I not realize that I was of reaping age and anticipate being reaped?

Terra always says that I quote too many of these ancient sayings, but I like them. I like having something to put my trust in in this topsy-turvy world we live in. I like the fact that they tell me what to _do_ in order to have good or bad luck, rather than just inform me that I am or am not doomed.

"Manuel Maxwell, District Six."

District Six already? But how is that even possible.

How could the tributes from Four and Five have gone so unbelievably fast.

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Now I am scared, but it's not a cowardly fear, don't get me wrong. I believe most brave men like myself would be scared at this moment, about to enter my Private Training Session, only two days before the actual Hunger Games begin.

"Kerr Dolce, District Six."

I gulp. I look over to Terra. There are some things I'd like to say to her, but I've noticed that she does not enjoy talking to me very much so I do not say anything.

Kerr's session is short compared to most of them. Well, apparently I zoned out for all of Districts Four and Five so none of those could have taken so long either, but out of the ones I was paying attention for, Kerr's was very short.

"Forest Sunflower, District Seven."

District Seven? That means only Forest and his district partner to go before it is my turn.

Oh no.

What am I going to do?

I'm no coward of course, like I said, but I cannot unclench the knot in my stomach despite all my efforts.

"Birdy Rhodes, District Seven."

This time, I actually gasp out loud.

I am next.

Not soon, not coming up.

Next.

* * *

**Birdy Rhodes, District Seven Female (16)**

* * *

"Birdy Rhodes, District Seven."

Suddenly, I can feel this morning's breakfast coming up.

It takes all of my efforts to keep myself from throwing up again. Shoving it back down can't be healthy, but I won't let my weak stomach embarrass me in public like this.

Manuel looks confused at my no doubt red face but Cam, oblivious, just sends me off with two thumbs up, telling me I'll do great.

"Thanks," I mutter to the both of them. Manuel would not tell me what he did in his own Private Session, but he does not look too nervous, so I have hope that he did well.

Upon being ushered down the hall and into the large room, I give a polite curtsey to the Gamemakers, all lined up to watch me.

My eyes fall upon the rows and rows of weapons laid out for us and I growl, though I regret it a second later. There's no way I'm doing anything harmful to any human or any part of nature just to receive a numbered score.

I sigh in relief a second later when my blue eyes spot a small area dotted with a tree here and there. In the center, there is a table and on it, mud and leaves. Perfect.

I resolve not to look at the Gamemakers again until I finish, for fear of what I might see on their faces. Instead I make my way over to the very table I spotted and dip my slender fingers into the mud. I cover my face with the stuff and some tree bark, weaving the leaves through my hair and clothes and spreading the mud throughout.

Once I am completely camouflaged, I find the first opening in the bark to grab onto. It's taller than I am, so I have to jump, but I grab onto it and heave myself up.

After the initial jump, the climb goes fast and before I know it, I am lounging up in the tree, relaxed, in my element. I had nothing to be nervous about. This is actually _fun._

I am about to smile so wide the dirt might just fall of my lips, but then I remember that the teeth my Prep Team whitened will not do much to help the camouflaged tree look.

I hope desperately that I am disguised well enough; that the Gamemakers cannot distinguish between myself and the tree, or at the very least that they can hardly do so.

The Gamemakers say nothing. Are they supposed to?

I wait what I estimate to be another minute and a half before climbing down, albeit much more slowly than I climbed up, torn between not wanting to leave the heavenly work of nature behind quite so soon, and the need to know what the Gamemakers are thinking.

Before I can say anything more, however, a buzzer goes off, signaling the end of my Session.

I give the onlooking Gamemakers another polite curtsey, and leave before giving them a chance to say or do anything more than simply observe. I don't think they were even taking notes on my performance, but then again, I was not looking at them.

* * *

**Alistair Penn, District Ten Male (13)**

* * *

The boy from District Nine, Cameron, is called, leaving only him and one more person before it is my turn.

Lainey is firing questions at Kerr about what she is to do when her name is called, and Kerr keeps telling her to do something she practiced in training. Briony jumps in every so often, but I remain silent as Cameron's turn concludes and his district partner, Catt, is called.

Kerr gives my hand a squeeze, evidently having finished explaining it all to Lainey, though my district partner still appears to be awfully confused, the poor girl.

"You'll do great, Ally," says Kerr. "You have nothing to worry about. It's actually pretty easy once you get in there." I don't know whether she is telling the truth or not, but I nod anyway.

The moments tick by swiftly, faster than I want them to, and before I know it, we hear that female trainer's voice once again. "Alistair Penn, District Ten."

For a second I laugh, realizing that my name and district number rhyme. Then I grow serious and follow her into the Training Center. I take a deep breath.

I am an idiot. This whole time I've been worrying about not making a fool of myself in front of the Gamemakers, instead of actually thinking about what I'm going to do to impress them.

Looking around at all of the weapons and survival stations among others, I shake my head absently. No, no, no. None of it will do.

A thought pops into my head. A frequent memory from my childhood and even in recent years. Something I enjoy doing, that's what Oxford said to do right? But more importantly, as he told me, something I am _good _at. Great at, even.

"Can I have a trainer?" I say, without giving it another thought. "Alistair Penn, District Ten," I add hastily, remembering that Oxford told me to say this first.

Oh, this better work. Please, please, please let it work.

The Gamemakers glance at one another, a few with serious expressions, but most either with a smirk or just flat out laughing at me. I don't get it. I'm what, thirteen? Do they think I can't take him.

A Gamemaker towards the center of the row of them, a small man wearing thick glasses, takes a puff of something (some sort of inhaler I believe) and breathes deeply, before motioning for a trainer to come over to me.

The man he chose for me is not so built; he came from one of the survival stations. I breath a sigh of relief, grateful to the Gamemaker with the thick glasses.

_You can do it, Alistair,_ I tell myself over and over again. _You've done this a million times before._

But I haven't. At least, not with a human.

Well. Here goes.

I start off by grabbing his leg. It's the closest thing there is to a tail, and I am trying my hardest to emulate my strategy when wrestling pigs like I do back home.

He is heavy, heavier than I expected, and I am unable to flip him over. He is also taller than me.

I remind myself to breathe. _Breathe, Ally, No doubt there'll be time to cry later if you get a low score. For now, just breathe._

I try another tactic, grabbing him by the shoulders. He is taller than me; I grab on and hoist myself up. My legs are now dangling above the ground.

I figure I don't have much to lose. I push down with all my might. The trainer is struggling, the both of us now down on the floor, myself sitting up on his back.

I hold him down for one, two, three seconds, before he bursts up, sending me flying backwards to smash my head against the hard floor. I bring a hand up to the back of my head. Fortunately, no blood.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief and beam.

Those three seconds were all I needed. I won. I _won._ I can hardly believe it.

I think I have piqued their interest. Many of the Gamemakers are nodding their approval. I bow courteously, and exit the Training Center.

I suppose Alane, my triplet sister, was correct. She once speculated a while back that my wrestling of pigs is probably similar to human wrestling. At the time, I was rather offended that she was comparing it to me hurting a real person, but I realize now that she was right.

It is different though. After the match, I would run around and play with the pigs. That does not seem very likely here.

The second I come out, Briony jumps up and gives me warm hug. I smile as I wrap my arms around her as well. She gasps and jumps back, as if just realizing what she is doing.

Kerr laughs a bit and Lainey smiles brightly, even as her own name is called.

I mean to wish her luck. I mean to say something. But no words come. I think I've had enough excitement for one day.

I imagine life in the actual Games. A pig-like wrestle with a human being possibly more than once a day? I'd rather not.

Too bad I'm a tribute. I did not sign up for this, any of it. Tributes do not get any options or choices. Tributes are not allowed to choose or say no to what they are told to do by the Capitol.

They want me to kill another child. They want another child to kill me.

Our blood makes them happy. They relish in the sight of it.

* * *

**Catt Williams, District Nine Female (18)**

* * *

Back on District Nine's floor, Ryta and Wheaten ask me how I think I did.

I respond with a shrug. "I- I'm not sure. Pretty average I guess."

It's not true. I know I did well. It's not an arrogant type of thinking I did well, just the knowledge that my father trained me since I was five-years-old for this, just in case I was reaped, because he has been paranoid ever since his twin brother died in the Games, can assure me of this.

But if I tell the mentors that I am confident, surely they will begin to wonder, and we can't have that.

Ryta gives me one good look from head to toe before moving on to Cam. "What about you, Cam?"

He nods. "Same as Catt, I guess. An average score most likely."

Wheaten nods. "There's nothing wrong with average. Besides, the scores don't really matter much. You still have your interviews coming up anyway."

I bite my lip. No, there is nothing wrong with average. But coming from District Nine, there may be a problem with me being _above _average.

I didn't really get to speak with Forest since his Private Session; I hope he did all right. Aside from the obvious reason of me wanting my ally to succeed, if Forest does well too, then it will just look like the two of us did really well at training here in the Capitol over the past few days. If it's just me, on the other hand . . . that can't be too good for mine and my father's secret of him having trained me.

Cam, sensing my discomfort, changes the subject. "I bet you are going to rock your interview dress, Catt."

For a moment I want to shake my head at him, and remind him that I am a whole three years his senior and his pitiful attempts at flirting are doing no good. Then I remember that he is doing this for the benefit of my comfort, so I just shrug politely.

"Oh I'm sure she will," Ryta pipes in, a little too eagerly for my liking.

"Calm down, Ryta, she's eighteen," Wheaten scolds her.

I look away from them, embarrassed, even though I am not quite sure what they are talking about.

"Oh don't look like that, girl," Ryta says. "I was only saying I think you're pretty, that's all, nothing more. Unlike a certain district partner of yours."

Cam rolls his eyes and the two of us leave our mentors behind and sit down on the couch. I fold my muscular legs underneath me just as the countdown to the scores begins.

Cam laughs at something and opens his mouth to tell me about it but I put up my finger to silence him. I squeeze my eyes tightly in concentration.

_Please just be average, please just be average. Anything more than average will blow my cover for certain._

I sigh. There's not much more I can do now I suppose, except hope the Gamemakers are feeling extra picky today.

Wow. I never thought a tribute would be thinking that right before the training scores are revealed.

* * *

**Dream Swiller, District One Female (17)**

* * *

Gala takes one look at me and buries her face in her hand.

Why? Is she jealous of all the attention I'm getting and now thinking of how she's going to try to hurt me?

Dimette is complaining to Stellar about what a bad job the salon did the last time she went to have her skin dyed a deeper shade of green.

Stellar is drinking something from a glass, nodding his head as if he cares at all about what Dimette has to say.

Fibbi is sitting next to me, smiling, eyes wide with excitement in anticipation of receiving our scores.

None of them besides Gala seem to be looking to hurt me physically or emotionally, at least at the moment, but I glance over my shoulder once more (okay, maybe twice more) just to make sure neither Stellar nor Dimette are looking at me funny. Then again, maybe the two of them are working alongside Gala to take me down and are pretending not to be in on it.

Gala is seated next to me; I stand up hastily and move to the other side of Fibbi. Gala goes beat red. So does that mean she knows I have figured her out?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "What do you want?" I snap at Fibbi, who gives me an odd look.

His hits me over the head with his stick and I scowl at him. He raises it up to do it again, but I grab it from him before he gets the chance. They better not let him in the Games with this thing. If they do that'll be just one more thing for me to have to look out for. Honestly, I thought Fibbi was on my side, at least to some extent. At least compared to someone like Sierra. But now, with all of this hitting and whatnot, it's clear that he's conspiring against me just like all the others. He'll probably be the one to hold me down when Sierra strikes. I'll have to keep away from all of them as much as possible. But how is it even possible? If I go off on my own I'll have twenty-three tributes coming after me, instead of four. (Connor is not coming after me . . . I think.) Then again, if the other Careers are all really out to get me, then surely they'll let the other tributes in to attack me without notifying me beforehand.

But the Careers are the best option I've got as of now, so I am forced to stay with them.

I gulp. I should have waited an extra year before Volunteering. I was supposed to be the tribute next year, but that would be just what my parents want, and I need to defy them at least in this tiny way after everything they put me through.

I wish Hera could be here somehow though. She is my best friend, the only person I trust wholeheartedly. I miss her.

The booming voice of Hornish Clutch reverberates throughout the room, and I am reminded that tomorrow he will interview me. I don't think he'll want to help me out very much either. I'll have to do well all on my own. It's not fair, really. Stellar keeps telling me that Hornish will try to help me out, but I believe Stellar is lying, because the glint in Hornish's eye is not a friendly one at all.

Hornish begins counting down to the revelation of the scores on the television screen.

Fibbi is first. He closes his eyes and squeezes his shoulders together for a moment, hoping for a good score.

I shiver when I see that he got his wish.

His face appears on screen, blond and bright eyed as ever, a blood red _9_ positioned below his picture.

Fibbi jumps up and beams. "Tkiyu, tkiyu!"

He's happy. I narrow my eyes. Now he must be hoping for me to score lower so that he can prove he's better than me. I sincerely hope his wish is not granted.

I breathe a sigh of relief, stunned, when I see my own face come up next, the number _10 _directly below it.

I did it. I outdid Fibbi. Now as long as I scored equal to or higher than all of the other Careers I can pretty much demand respect from them all I want. They won't have the guts to kill someone with a higher score than they, or at least Fibbi won't, so I don't have to worry about him as much.

Stellar claps his hands together and Dimette squeals.

"Congratulations to the both of you!" Stellar exclaims. "Marvelous, marvelous scores."

"Yeah. W-we're p-proud of the b-both of you," Gala adds in a small voice. Is that stutter implying that she is not a good lier and she does not want us (or only wants Fibbi) to succeed in the Private Sessions because she's looking to take me down?

The celebrations are interrupted, however, by the next picture.

Kai.

And underneath his name . . ._11._

Eleven?! _Eleven?!_

Almost _nobody _ever scores an eleven. That's . . . that's legendary.

Then again, Kai's animalistic fighting is pretty legendary.

This is not good, not good at all.

Kai scored higher than me. He can and will demand respect of the others and I bet he will use that hold over the other Careers to kill me, Dream, because I got on Sierra's bad side and disturbed the peace of the relationship between the six of us.

In actuality, it was all Sierra's fault. _She_ was the one who started up with _me._ _I _just wanted to make sure that a silly little reaped girl was good enough for our pack, just trying to protect all five of the rest of us, and suddenly I am the bad guy because she flipped out and threatened me after I asked a harmless question?

Fibbi makes a sound. Once again, I do not know what he is saying, but his face tells me that he is impressed.

"Don't get too excited," I tell him. "Every score of ten, eleven, or twelve another tribute receives, Fibbi, is another sponsor who will prefer him or her to you."

Fibbi looks down and I smile slightly, glad to have gotten my point across. Besides, it's going to help him in the long run even if he did feel uncomfortable at the moment. Now Fibbi knows that he has a lot of competition, and he'll just have to work extra hard to be better than it.

Oh wait, did I just give him _advice_? As in, advice that he can use against me?

I stamp my foot immaturely. That was awfully stupid of me.

Fibbi, even if he got a lower score, could still be working against me, and I have just gave him advice of how better to do it.

* * *

**Connor Poe, District Four Male (18)**

* * *

Sierra claps when she sees Kai's score of eleven. I smile as well, proud of his eleven, but on the inside I feel kind of bad for the guy.

I mean, it's easy to see that Kai is proud of himself, and rightfully so. He did tear apart those dummies at training beautifully, and no doubt he did something even better to impress the Gamemakers. Now, he's probably getting cocky, bragging to Caecilia about it whilst she commends him (possibly begrudgingly). But I, Connor, am going to outdo him, I just know it.

In all honesty, if I get anything below a twelve I'd be surprised, given how impressed the Gamemakers were with the rap I gave them which I had been working on for days in preparation.

Caecilia's face is shown next, under her picture is the number _10. _That's a good score as well. I'm glad to see that everyone in our alliance so far is doing well. I really have led them well, I suppose, and they were are pretty talented to begin with.

Keon Watts . . . _6_, and his district partner, Circuit Tethra, a _5_. Average scores for the both of them, not too awful, but nothing special.

I bite my lip when I see my own face appear on the television screen. I glance down and see that the first digit is a one, and beam, closing my eyes. So it must be a ten, eleven, or twelve.

I make it dramatic, looking to see Sierra's gaping mouth expression first. It must be a twelve then.

Cheerily, I look back at the television. Mare and Tidal look as though they're choking.

But it's not a twelve I see on the screen. Not even an eleven or a twelve. It's a _1._

I, Connor Poe, scored a _one _in training.

I can't breathe. There must be some mistake. The Gamemakers just couldn't get enough of me. How is it possible that I got such a low score? I turn to Sierra who is shaking her head. She wraps her arms around me in a comforting hug and I shake slowly within them. Mare just glares at me and Tidal sighs and stands up for a stretch.

"It's going to be all right," she says.

I shake my head. "Will they revoke my status as Career leader, Sierra? What do you think?"

She sighs. "Connor, it's more than that."

That's when it hits me. They are going to kick me out of the Careers altogether.

Sierra's name comes up and I have hope it's a high number, high enough that she will have the authority to vouch for me to remain in the alliance, maybe even the leader.

_8._

Sierra beams and breathes a sigh of relief. I clap, happy for her, but I squirm a bit. An eight is high enough to keep Sierra in the alliance, but not high enough for her to get me back into it.

I've seen enough of the scores. I can't take it anymore.

"I- I have to go," I mutter, as Tidal congratulates Sierra on her high score.

I walk straight into the huge bedroom I have been assigned and wrap myself in the blankets.

I just don't get it. How is it even _possible _that I scored so low? I was so sure I'd earned myself a twelve, or a ten or eleven at least, but _one_? Who gets a _one_? Least of all a highly skilled Career like myself.

Now I'll admit, it was a risk to do the rap first and save the fighting until later, but it's the Gamemakers' own fault for sending me out before I even had the chance to show them how I can use a mace. Granted, I was kind of happy that they sent me out because the rap was the major part of it and the part which I thought would earn me the highest score out of everyone . . .

A single tear slips out and runs down my cheek. Followed by another and then another. I sob out loud now. The Hunger Games was supposed to be my second chance at stardom after my first attempt failed.

Well, at least Sierra did well, but even she scored lower than the others. I guess us District Four tributes are not going to be held to such high acclaim right now. That's okay though, because my marvelous performance coming up during my interview and my eventual victory of the Games are certainly going to chance that.

* * *

**Martial Avalaine, District Eleven Male (16)**

* * *

"Sit down," I command Briony, irked by her annoying bouncing up and down while we listen to the Training Scores.

Summer's district partner, a tall curly haired boy named James Sern, pops up after the disastrous District Four boy and green-blue eyed his district partner.

_6._

That's good. A perfectly average, balanced score. I wait for Summer's to come up next and feel my right shoulder twitch a bit as I see her _5._

I clench my fists, but try to control myself. I was hoping for her and I each to receive a six, so that our scores added up will equal a perfect twelve. Now I need to get a seven to complete this picture, and even so, mine and Summer's scores will be irritatingly uneven.

The boy from District Six gets a _5, _the girl a _4_. Briony sighs sadly. The girl from Six is one of her allies, I remember. Clearly, Briony had too high expectations for this less than ally of hers who scored slightly below average for an eighteen-year-old.

The District Seven boy's face comes up with a crimson _6 _underneath. I'm a bit surprised; I had expected more from him.

The girl from Seven comes up next, matching her district partner's score. I'm glad that at least this pair has a perfect twelve of six and six, but envious as well. Then again, these two are only district partners, not allies. I don't need to be even with little Briony or anything, that would just be insulting.

The boy from District Eight is faced with the lowest score yet, besides that peculiar one of the District Four Male; a _3. _I feel kind of bad for the kid, but he did always seem all over the place and not at all orderly or willing to do what I say. It's a good thing I'm allied with Summer and not him, though I do feel angry with Summer for not pulling the six I demanding and expected of her. It's not like I left her there to figure it out. Oh no, I told Summer specifically what she had to score, even gave her some advice on how to achieve it. But, alas, she has disobeyed me.

My cheeks grow hot with anger for the girl. I try to calm myself, but I hate it when people do not do what I say, especially someone over whom I am supposed to have power such as an ally of mine.

The boy from Nine flashes before our eyes, a blood _5 _stamped below him. My teeth begin to chatter a bit. I'm from District Eleven. That means only the girl from Nine and both tributes from Ten to go before my score is announced.

The girl from Nine outscores the boy by a lot. Her blond head pops up before us, the number written below it no less than an _8._

Briony gasps. "That's really good."

Quaker agrees. "She's a fighter, that girl. But you are too, Martial. You better have done good."

Sod just shakes his head. "The scores don't matter all that much. Quaker's standards have always been far too high. We're proud of you however the scores come out."

The District Ten tributes come up next. The other two of Briony's allies. Automatically, she grabs my hand for support because I am the one positioned closest to her.

I swat her small hand away and wipe my own darker one off on the couch as Briony takes a sharp intake of breath and the little boy from District Ten, the youngest male in the competition, comes up with a _7._

"Seven?" Briony exclaims in amazement. "Thats- That's wonderful!"

"You have good taste," Sod tells her with a wink.

Briony turns beet red and Sod adds, "In allies."

Briony is still grinning from ear to ear, and positively _gushing _about her ally's good performance when his tiny district partner appears before us.

_2._

I remember the District Six girl's four, and deduce that Briony is not all too great with choosing allies. She just got lucky with the boy from Ten.

Briony looks as though she wants to cry, but she sniffs loudly and holds it in.

"Don't make that noise," I tell her, but she ignores me and sniffs once more which agitates me even further.

"A-At least Alistair's s-score will g-get us sponsors, r-right, Sod?"

Sod smiles at her. "I don't think a cute little girl like yourself needs to worry all that much about sponsors."

Briony smiles, her cheeks flushed. "Sorry about that," she says in her usual soft, quiet voice, which I have not heard since Alistair's score was displayed.

I take a deep breath. I'm next.

I stare back at my own reflection for a moment, before my eyes flicker down. I'm hoping it's a seven.

It's not a seven.

It's an _8._

It's written in clear scarlet letters for the whole nation to see. I, Martial Avalaine, scored an eight. I was hoping for a seven so that my score added to Summer's would equal twelve, but I suppose eight is the next best thing because it is only one off and higher.

_8._

"Wow," says Quaker. "See? I told you you had fight in you, just like the girl from Nine. Nice job, Avalaine."

"Beautiful," Sod agrees. "Not to worry, darling," he adds to Briony. "I'm sure you did great as well."

Briony shrugs. A second later her own hazel eyes seem to follow me everywhere, one pair right next to me and the second wide-eyed on the television screen.

Below her face, is the number _5._

I shrug. A five is not bad, especially for a thirteen-year-old.

"Great job, Bri," Sod congratulates her. "Both of you, really. I believe the both of you have exceeded our expectations with your training scores. Martial, Briony, you have both done positively brilliantly!"

Quaker agrees reluctantly. "Yes, even you, girlie. A five is all right. We've had worse from older kids, haven't we, Sod?"

Sod laughs. "Yes, we have . . . just about every year in fact."

"That's an exaggeration," Quaker snaps, and Sod shrugs but nods his agreement.

We take a look at the final scores; those of the tributes from Twelve. Both are given the number _6._

They are district partners, an alliance, and add up to twelve equally with six and six.

Very nice. Very balanced and orderly.

I recognize the girl's dark hair and soft, feminine features from our last conversation in the elevator after the Chariot Rides. It feels like a decade ago.

Saffron. That's her name.

Maybe I misjudged Saffron. Maybe there is more to her than meets the eye. What was it she told me? To welcome in friends? Perhaps I should try that with Summer . . . maybe I am a bit lonely. Maybe deep down I do need her as more than an ally.

* * *

**Kerr Dolce, District Six Female (18)**

* * *

Hornish Clutch returns to the program. He congratulates all of us tributes a couple of times and announces the conclusion of the announcement training scores, informing the Capitol citizens to stay tuned for tomorrow's tribute interviews.

"You're allies did quite well," Manuel says informatively.

"Thanks," I mutter. I'm not in much of a mood to talk to anyone. Manuel's a nice enough kid and I do enjoy speaking to him, but right now the only person I wish to see is Edgar. I long for my best friend to hold me tight and comfort me, just like he did when I told him I was pregnant.

"When someone gives you a compliment, you are supposed to return the favor, you know," Manuel comments.

"Oh, right, I'm so sorry about that." I try for my signature smile directed his way, but my lips only meet my brain halfway and it probably resembles more of a grimace. "You did very well, too, Manuel." As I say it, I realize I should have earlier. Who cares if I did not do good? Since when have things been all about me. "I'm proud of you," I say, this time quite genuinely.

He nods. "Thank you," he holds out his hand and shakes mine formally. "Now, I hate to bid you goodbye so soon, but I'd better be off to bed. I have the right amount of sleep I need the night before the interviews planned out you see, and I would not want to tap into that time."

"Good night," I tell him softly. "See you tomorrow."

"You as well."

Once Manuel has receded to his bedroom, Glass approaches me. "Don't worry about the score," he says. "We all go through some rough times." I smell something strange in his breath as he speaks to me, but I do not comment on it. I believe he is talking about more than just my Training Score. He looks over to Halette who is currently biting into an apple and she nods at him. "Well, um, I think Halette is better with this sort of thing, but . . . don't be nervous Kerr."

He trades places with Halette and she takes my hand. "Kerr, don't worry about how you did. A four is not all too bad. There have been Victors who did worse."

I shake my head. "It's not me. I'm so happy about Ally and Bri's scores, and so incredibly proud of them. I can get over myself. After . . . after what Manuel said to me I realized that it's not all about me. I'm still nervous for Lainey, though. The poor girl does not know very much about the Games and she can barely fight for her life. I'll protect her. Now that Ally and Bri have proved capable of doing so, I'm sure that they will too, but . . . I just can't help but worry for her. Sponsors were supposed to be the one thing she did well with."

Halette smiles. "You're a great girl, Kerr. Always putting others before yourself. Lainey will be fine. There can only be one Victor. I'm not going to lie to you; I don't think it will be her. But I also think that whatever happens she will be fine. Sometimes, sad as it is, a peaceful rest in death is more desirable than even the most luxurious of lives, if it's a life such as that of many a Victor filled with pain and guilt and suffering."

Her glance flickers to Glass as she says this, and I know that something is definitely up with the poor man.

I blink out the tears from my eyes and take two deep, calming breaths. "Thank you," I say. There are so more words to speak, even though there is loads more to say. I think she gets the message though, because she gives me a warm, comforting hug.

"I think you've had enough excitement today," says Halette. "Why don't you join Manuel and go off to bed."

I laugh, glad to be back in a cheerful mood. "Yes, I wouldn't want my proper number of hours of sleep to be diminished on such an important night, now would I?"

Halette snorts and Glass laughs once as well. "No you would not," she says. "Trust me, you're going to want to collect as many hours as you can these last few nights. In the arena, you never know when you're going to get the chance at a restful night's sleep."

* * *

**James Sern, District Five Male (17)**

* * *

I am forced back into that wretched room, the very one I stormed out of what feels like ages ago. I am sitting on the black leather salon chair. I am stuck. Today Shema actually took the liberty of strapping me into the chair. Shema, Gladius, and Semter, are taking turns holding down the straps just to make sure I do not try to break free whilst the other two prepare me to be dressed for today's interview by Marnella.

For a moment I wonder what Summer, my district partner, is up to now. No doubt she is being fawned over by her own Prep-Team. She seems to be cooperative, or, at least, more so than I am. Summer's appearance reminds me a bit of Rose. The fair skin and streaks in each of their hair is about as far as the resemblance goes, but still, looking at Summer makes me think of Rose, which just makes me mad, because Rose is now gone where she can never come back to me.

"You're almost done, James. You are going to look simply dashing at your interview later, I just know it, James, I just know it!"

She has been trying to make up with me ever since our disagreement the day of the Chariot Rides. Things are rather tense between the two of us, but I prefer it this way. This way I have to deal with quite as many of her irritatingly chipper attempts at making conversation when I would so clearly rather give her a punch in that surgically altered nose of hers.

"You know, James," Shema starts again. I had thought I was finally rid of that pesky, perky little voice of hers. I guess I thought wrong. "I know we got off to a rough start, and our time together is going to be ending soon, but I really want you to know, James, that I consider you to be one of my greatest friends."

She turns around and buries her reddening face in her hands. "Excuse me for a moment, James, it's just . . . just so emotional!"

I'm one of her best friends? "The feeling is not mutual," I say. The only person who would ever fall into the category of "friend" for me is Rose. Just about everyone else are the irksome people placed in my life to intrude upon my desired solitude and try to make me open up to them. Well, there are people who are worse than those, but I'm finding these types of warm and fuzzy "please just let us be friends" type people more and more lately . . . Or maybe I'm just becoming more and more distant from the rest of the human population as the days go on.

The again, this started even before Rose's demise. After all, Rose was the only friend I ever had and she was not human. She looked and acted the part so unbelievably well, better than most - or rather _all _- humans I know in fact, that it is quite easy to forget that I _created_ her. But I did . . . and there was no egg or sperm involved in the process.

* * *

**Saffron Irons, District Twelve Female (16)**

* * *

"A six is wonderful!" Klark comments as he takes my measurements one final time, just to ensure that my interview dress will fit perfectly. "You and Jax have definitely exceeded the standards the Capitol holds for District Twelve. Last year neither tribute from your district scored higher than a three."

"Thanks," I smile kindly. "Thanks for everything, Klark."

"No problem, doll. Now you are going to look simply _stupendous _tonight. The people are going to _adore _you, doll, _adore_!"

"Really? Well it's all thanks to you."

He puts a finger to his temple dramatically. "Well, doll, it's nice to be recognized, really, it is. You know, when I started out as a stylist for Twelve, I wasn't too sure, but you are just the sweetest little baby, you and Jax both."

Before I can respond, he plows on. "Now? Are you ready to see the _stupendous _outfit I have for you? Great. Go on, close your eyes, just like we did with the chariots." He waves at me to close my eyes and I do as he says, not wanting to ruin his fun, though I am still rather scared. The last time he and Jayra told Jax and I to close our eyes . . . _fire._

But this is not fire, it would have already begun to burn through my nostrils, down my throat, into my lungs.

"One . . . two . . . three . . . open!"

I gasp and put my hand over my mouth.

"G-gorgeous," I beam at him. "Wow, Klark. Y-You've outdone yourself."

He seems pleased with himself, and I'm glad to have given him the satisfaction, but the dress truly is gorgeous.

It's soft pink in color and knee length, flaring out at the bottom. The strapless bodice is covered with a thin layer of organza, as is the free, twirly skirt.

Klark tucks a pink lily flower into my brunette curls and I think immediately of the meadow, making flower adornments, selling those silly but cute little things to make some money for my family. Of begging that kind Peacekeeper to allow me to collect the flowers, and collecting tons and tons within that one week two years ago.

But most of all, I think of Clary. Of the flowery friendship bracelet I gave her as her token before she was shipped off to the Games, and I smile. I hope she's happy with me. I miss her terribly, but I hope that wherever she may be, she's watching over me and smiling. I hope I'm doing the right thing in her eyes with everything that I do.

Most of the girls around my age will probably be wearing high heels, but Klark gives me a pair of simple pink ballet flats and I do a little twirl, allowing the skirt of my lovely dress to fan out beneath me.

"It's amazing," I tell him, beaming. "Brilliant."

My make-up is simple as well, just a touch on my lips and a bit of blush to highlight my feminine features.

Looking at myself in the mirror, for a moment, I almost believe that I might be able to gain some sponsors for myself. I certainly hope so. Then again, I, Saffron, the sweet girly-girl from District Twelve just might not stand out in the mind of the average Capitol citizen as much as say, the cute little girl from Ten or Eleven or the sexy blond from One or Four.

Oh well. Klark has truly outdone himself with my outfit. Now it's all up to me to get them to like me.

The pressure is on, that's for certain.

* * *

**Under Pressure by My Chemical Romance**

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**Link to the blog for this story (just remove the spaces): heights101hg. blogspot. com**

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**I would really appreciate it if you guys answered some of the questions I have for you at the end of each chapter xD**

**_Who are your favorite tributes as of now?_**

**_Thoughts on the scores? (Did you think they were accurate, too high, too low, amusing, etc.)_**

**_And, of course, How was my writing in this chapter?_**

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**Can everyone give me a round of applause for fast updating? Thank you, thank you, you're all too kind ;DD**

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**I have some good news and bad news. The bad news, (PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!) is that I am going to be away for a few, uh, weeks, for the summer where I will not be able to update. BUT when I get back I will be on vacation and at home so I'll have plenty of time to update fast like you saw with this chapter. Uhh, sorry for closing the poll so soon, but there will be another one after Chapter 7 is posted. Speaking of Chapter 7, I am going to try my absolute hardest to have it posted before I go, and I think I can do it but no promises. I hope you can all forgive me, and I hope you guys are looking forward to my rapid update pace which will begin when I get back, I know I am. A huge congratulations to Fibbi(and his creator GoldenfeatherKyru of course) for receiving the most votes on the poll! But really, a lot of tributes did well, and almost everyone got at least one vote so congratulations to all on your amazing tributes! And, about the scores, typically, the average non-Career score is about a 5 or 6, so anything higher than that is amazing, and anything lower is not so great. For Careers, they average around 8-10 usually, so both Kai's and Connor's scores were pretyt much unheard of, but in totally opposite directions! :D (Connor's more so that Kai's obviously)**

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**Well, please review :D Thanks, you guys are the best xDDD**

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**The scores are up on the blog! I would say that the final alliances were determined last chapter, but the Careers still need to work things out with Connor, so . . . stay tuned for that!**


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